


Black Dove

by SillyBlue



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Dean/Cas Big Bang Challenge 2012, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Shapeshifting, Time Travel, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-02
Updated: 2012-11-02
Packaged: 2017-11-17 15:03:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 105,325
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/552866
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SillyBlue/pseuds/SillyBlue
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>With no recollection of how or why, Dean finds himself transported two years into the future.<br/>The only chance Dean’s got to survive in a world where civilization is either gathered into Leviathan controlled cities or in small Settlements is someone he had believed dead.<br/>Joining Castiel on his travels through the Settlements and the toxic wastelands gives them both a chance to mend what’s been broken between them while Dean tries to find a way back home.<br/>It’s a little bit inconvenient though when the only clues as to why he’s been sent to the future are a very unstable connection back to Sam in 2012 and a number of seemingly random weapons and items, including an ominous gold thread and… a box of condoms.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Dean/Cas Big Bang 2012
> 
> Additional warnings: spoilers up to 7.12, short-term memory loss, temporary shape-shifting (includes Castiel's vessel being female), UST, short moments of intoxication leading to sexual advances, mild physical illness, hinted at mental illness of minor character, Leviathans controlling and eating people as general state of affairs
> 
> Beta-read by Esmerod
> 
> Wonderful accompanying artwork by arihx: http://arihx.livejournal.com/1397.html

**Prolog**

There was a line of gold, thin and gleaming more than the dim glow coming from the bare bulb hanging limply from its cord would have allowed.

The light swayed, then flickered and the line of gold disappeared. The hiss of a match followed and the low murmur of an incantation was added to the loud, forceful puffing out of air. A chilling rush of adrenaline and his body tensed as if in expectation of a razor blade dug into his skin.

The incantation stopped and he counted cracks in the ceiling, closed his eyes to focus on the drizzle of rain, the stench of a city burnt out, the wails of humanity’s demise. A grin, hollow and sardonic, the heavy clang of metal on wood, death rhythm of machinery, a gentle cracking sound. And a smile.

A smile and white and blossoming red in a watery haze.

It was hard to focus on their voices but he did, impatience scratching at his shaky composure. He was cold. They were running out of time, he’d have to get there, fast, before they were overrun.

“Just try not to mess up and die or anything as inconvenient as that.”

“We’ll stay in touch. God, I hope this works.”

“As far as incredibly stupid ideas are concerned this isn’t even your worst. But it’s rather high up on the list.”

“Okay. Go now. Remember, you only have-“

* * *

**_  
_**

The air tasted of earth and mud and something else, something darker, something dirtier. His head tried to put it together, tried to pinpoint the smell and the heaviness not unlike deep sleep clinging to his body, but he couldn’t, not like this. He was dimly aware of his fingers, moving slowly over a rough surface that gave way under his prodding touch. Dirt maybe. Or drying mud. It was strange finding himself like this; lying somewhere when he couldn’t even remember going to sleep or going to fight or lying down. And for a moment he didn’t remember anything at all but for the first few breaths that had tasted foreign and wrong.

This alone was reason enough for him to finally pull himself all the way to awareness and crack open an eye. There was sickly yellow light coming from somewhere behind him and he was lying on his stomach, cheek pressed to decaying wooden planks that might have been polished and smooth a hundred years ago or so. Now there were holes and splinters in places close to where his head was cushioned on grainy earth, drying underneath him, but still clinging wetly against his legs and his stomach. The light did extend further than his position allowed him to see and he shifted his head carefully, because suddenly waking up in a strange place was never a good sign. Who knew what could lurk in the shadows where the light did not reach.

Now that he was awake, the heavy smells seemed stronger, an undercurrent of the foul stink of a lentic pond of water in the summer heat, rotting wood, algae, some kind of primordial sludge that was close to the musty and all too well-known odors of a coffin ripped open. This was decay. He could smell it, like a zombie that had clawed its way out of a swamp. But there was something sweet underneath it too, reminding him of over-ripe fruit, a strange mix of living, intense vapors almost sickeningly strong with the ash and mud of rot.

Gentle movement far too close caused him to stop the evaluation of putrid stench and focus on his surroundings again. It was impossible to see well from his position, but he couldn’t properly angle his head without attracting the attention of whatever was with him. Belatedly, he realized that his hands were not bound and he found no other restrictions on him to limit his movements. There was the metallic weight of his gun tugged into the back of his pants and something else in the pocket of his jacket was poking into his ribs a bit uncomfortably. No matter whether the thing with him was a human or some supernatural bastard, it clearly had forgotten to take precaution or did not know that precaution was required. He heard the rustling of fabric and then something heavy was dragged over the floor. It had sounded like a metallic bucket scratching over the wood and if he wasn’t completely mistaken he could hear the sound of water swapping. So, it was definitely sentient enough to move a bucket of water, whatever its purpose. While the attention of his unknown companion was elsewhere, he shifted his weight to one of his shoulders, lifting his head enough to see more of where he was and to maybe catch a glimpse of the other person, if it _was_ a person. He saw more planks and dirt, but he also could make out something resembling a counter and even though there were parts missing, there seemed to be a wall constructed of wood that was faintly illuminated by a yellow light. There was the sound of something dunked into water, very gently, then the splatter of drops onto the dusty floor. It took these sounds to alert him to the absence of everything else; it was very, _very_ quiet. He didn’t know what to expect because he didn’t know where he was, but there were no cars, no people, no growling of monsters, not even the sound of nature or birds or insects. Just the _drip drip_ of stray water drops splashing irregularly on the wooden floor. He stiffened when he felt whatever was with him approach from behind, tension rising as the proximity sent a wave of pinpricks down his spine, and suddenly there was something wet touching the back of his neck and then his cheek and temple. He gave a start, dropping all pretense at being unconscious and sat up, gun in his hands, aimed at the forehead of whoever it was that kneeled before him.

“Woah! Easy!”

Dean stared past his gun trailed on a forehead, seeing hands lifted up disarmingly, water from the washcloth running down a pale wrist and soaking the sleeve of a moss green jacket. Beyond the trembling gun he saw sharp blue eyes, framed by black lashes, a pink mouth closing tightly and a mop of windblown dark hair.

He lowered his gun, not sure if he could believe his eyes.

“Cas…?” His voice was hoarse, full of confusion and disbelief. And raw, as if he’d swallowed water and had spent a day coughing it up again. Castiel breathed a sigh of relief that sounded like a laugh.

“Dean.” His throat constricted even more and it took a lot of willpower to suppress a sound halfway between a gag and a sob and to reform it into a pained hiss. “Whatever you did, it must have been reckless. You were out cold when I found you,” Castiel said in a slightly bemused tone, turning away to sink the washcloth into the bucket again, “and you’re running a low fever…” Dean listened to the sound of water, mind blown completely blank, his gun impossibly heavy in his hand. He almost missed that Castiel had resumed speaking. Low, so low as if the sound of it would send Dean running. “I’m surprised that you even recognize me.”

Dean stopped wiping his wrist over his wet and mud caked face to glare at Castiel. _Because he’s supposed to be dead_ , Dean’s head helpfully supplied. _Because he’s supposed to have dissolved into black goo_. But that wasn’t on the forefront of his mind. Which was odd indeed, he should be more astonished, more wary. But instead he almost felt as if he’d expected to see Castiel again, as if he’d already emotionally and physically braced himself for it. But why? _Why_? His head hurt and his ears rang with wordless white noise when he tried to remember why this wasn’t as odd as it should be.

He looked closer, looked at the revived angel crouching close to him and with a sinking feeling like ice water pooling in his stomach he realized what Castiel had meant. Because this was not Castiel in front of him, not like he knew him. His head must have taken a huge hit for him to not notice that ‘Cas’ was a woman. She still looked deceivingly like Castiel (Jimmy Novak, Dean recalled) but the hair was longer, the bone structure of her face less pronounced, she still had the sharp cheek bones though, the straight, pointed nose and blue eyes. And she definitely had breasts even though the three layers of jacket, wool cardigan and shirt with its three buttons closed didn’t show too much of them. How he had instantly recognized her – or _mistaken_ her – as Castiel was rather puzzling.

“You’re a chick,” he choked lamely because there was nothing smarter he could come up with right on the spot. He shifted, but stopped short of letting himself fall down on his butt in a disgraceful heap. He tensed and lifted his gun again, even though if the sudden chilly suspicion was true, silver bullets wouldn’t do him any good at all. “You’re a leviathan?!” he hissed dangerously and carefully kept his eyes on her face to check for miniscule twitches that could give the truth away while he reached inside his coat for the emergency bottle of borax he always kept with him. Castiel didn’t react even when Dean slightly widened his eyes as his hands came up empty. The bottle wasn’t in his jacket and a patting down the back of his jeans revealed that it wasn’t there either. The only container he had with him was Bobby’s flask, empty. Not even holy water.

“No, Dean…” It’s been months, he’s almost forgotten the quality of Castiel’s voice and it was easy to fool his mind into believing that this was it. But it wasn’t. This wasn’t _Cas_. Not the Cas he knew. Because he was gone. Swallowed up and drowned by fanged black waves.

“Well,” Dean snorted, trying to get a grin on his face to prove himself that he was still on top of the situation. Even though he clearly had no idea what was happening. “Pardon me if I don’t exactly buy anything you’re saying.” Castiel heaved a sigh and even this was so foreign, but then she clicked her tongue and inched a bit closer. Immediately the gun was pointed at her forehead again.

“Don’t move. Even if it won’t kill you, a bullet to your brain won’t exactly be pleasant,” he warned her icily. Castiel rolled her eyes at him, but then she tilted her head, waiting with an expression a patient mother humoring her ill-tempered child might wear. Dean returned her stare, almost caving under the familiar weight of it, but he mustn’t be fooled. The leviathans knew everything about the people they copied and they sure as hell knew everything there was to know about their first not quite human host. But he had to admit that it did seem odd and pointless to change their victim’s body. He had never seen one of those gooey bastards doing anything like it.

“I’m going to cut you,” Dean finally announced, fingering for the knife in his belt. Ruby’s knife. Dean didn’t waste any thoughts on why he was in possession of it, but it did painfully remind him that he had no idea where Sam was. He had to push the sudden surge of panic down because whatever it was that he was facing, Dean needed his full concentration here. “And then we see what you bleed.”

He had expected the thing in front of him to wince at the possible threat, but the woman only reached out her arm, rolling up jacket and the faded marine blue cardigan to expose the pale skin of her forearm. Dean looked up at her doubtfully, but she just raised her eyebrows at him. Dean snatched her wrist and cut into the smooth skin without warning. Castiel didn’t even flinch. Bright red blood seeped from the cut and Dean withdrew the weapon as if burnt, leaving Castiel to press her other hand around the wound.

“I’m no Leviathan,” she said and took her hand away again where Dean noticed that the cut and blood were gone, “and no demon.” Dean deflated, sitting back with wide eyes.

“Dean,” she said and got a bit closer, close enough to cover his forehead with her warm and dry palm. Dean fought the impulse to balk at the contact, but he was suddenly too weary to be cautious.

“Where am I? Is this some sort of parallel dimension or something?” he asked, cutting off anything she might have wanted to say. Castiel pursed her lips, but then she withdrew her hand again, kneeling in front of him. Dean realized that she seemed oddly relaxed, with her arms propped on her thighs as she looked at him.

“I’m not sure… I don’t think so. You seem familiar enough, but you’re not the Dean I know, not quite. You’re not _now_ you,” she said and Dean frowned, because something about this exchange was vaguely familiar. And then Dean froze, his eyes widening suddenly. 

“Wait,” he hissed and Castiel lifted an eyebrow. “ _When_ is this?!”

“2014,” Castiel told him, not openly displaying any surprise at his sudden question, and Dean got up on his feet, dragging his hand through his hair.

“No! NO!!” he shouted and even though his head exploded into pain and he felt sore all over he kept pacing the enclosed space. They were actually inside of what seemed to be the ruins of a small bar of some sorts, the walls not made of concrete partly rotting away and letting in the ominous yellow light from an outside he could not quite see. It seemed abandoned but for the small backpack and some utensils neatly put onto the floor and the counter towards the back. Apparently someone was squatting here, maybe even Castiel.

There was the buzz in his ears again. Some kind of static noise like listening to a radio channel but only getting broken off bits and pieces of the broadcast.

_Dean… on… Do you…happening over…_

He kicked against an overturned chair, sending it flying against the wall. The loud crash of splintering wood drowned out the static.

“Zachariah did this to you before…” Dean rubbed his palm over his lips and chin before he turned back to look at Castiel. She had moved and now was sitting cross-legged on some small Persian carpet that had certainly seen better days.

“You remember that?” She seemed perplexed for a moment, but then she nodded. Dean rubbed the bridge of his nose, squeezing his eyes shut against the head-ache. “Okay…” It was all but okay, nothing in this frigging time-line made any sense!

“I noticed that you must have come from a different time when I found you, but I have no idea from when you are. Seeing as you know what the Leviathan are it can’t be that far back…”

“No… 2012,” he supplied, but then he frowned even though Castiel made a humming noise of understanding. “Shit. I don’t get this! If this is the actual future, then how are you alive?”

“I’d rather wonder how you even got here,” Castiel countered his question with a frown, “because I apparently was not around to enable your little trip back to the future.” Dean wondered if she had just made a reference or if she was being literal again. In any case, it didn’t necessarily put him more at ease with her.

“I… I have no idea!” Dean hissed and walked over to where she was, sitting down on the carpet too, but at a healthy distance from Castiel. “I don’t remember getting here; I don’t remember what I last did…” He looked up at her studying him intently. “Where did you find me? And what about Sam…?”

“You were alone,” she told him quietly and Dean didn’t know whether to be relieved or worried. “I was on my way from the Alpine settlement towards the one on Jackson Lake when I noticed you.”

“You _noticed_ me?” he wondered and Castiel nodded.

“Well, if something comes crashing into your time like that it’s bound to cause ripples in the fluidity of time and space… Of course I noticed,” she told him with a hint of sarcasm in her voice. He wanted to argue with the logic of that, but something else caught his attention.

“Wait… What? _Settlements_? What settlements?” Castiel looked at him, but then her mouth formed a comprehending _oh_.

“Of course… that’s ahead of your time… You don’t have Settlements yet…,” she said, dragging her finger over her lips, tapping the lower one pensively. After more pondering silence, she looked up, fixing her blue eyes on his face. “I think you should not be here,” she pronounced gravely. Dean fought the urge to laugh at that.

“No shit. Thank you for this invaluable input,” he mocked and Castiel snorted.

“I’m not joking. Time travelling is always precarious, especially if done without supervision. While changing the past is quite impossible to achieve by humans alone, going into the future and then attempting to change the course of your present isn’t something to trifle with,” she explained with her typical air of slightly impatient severity.

“Well, I’d rather not be here if it’s any help to you. And if you knew I was going to put your timeline into danger then why not just put me back where I belong straight away?” The woman before him wrinkled her nose and it was immensely difficult to still recognize her as Castiel. She even smelt peculiar, like olive oil and seaweed, and Dean couldn’t even remember if Castiel used to smell like anything at all. “If you can still do that…,” he added, suddenly guarded. Because the Cas he had met in 2014 had not been an angel anymore.

“I can’t,” she told him sternly and something in Dean clenched painfully at that, because it opened a whole can of unpleasant association that came with Castiel’s fall into ill-fitting mortality. He eyed the woman suspiciously; looking for any signs of a drug induced high or lurking madness beneath her relatively calm exterior. “But not because I lack power.” Dean’s head shot up at that and he narrowed his eyes at her.

“Then why haven’t you sent me back while I was still unconscious? Did you think I like being a time tourist?” There it was again, Castiel’s eye-roll and it reminded him of Sam. Sam who was probably stuck back in 2012 wonderingwhat problems his older brother had gotten himself into. Again. This was like the fiasco with Chronos all over again. And there was nothing funny about getting himself stuck into a possible end-of-the-world time-frame with a supposedly revived but sex-changed maybe-maybe-not-angel.

“Send you back without hearing first why you were brought here? Where you came from and who had sent you?” Castiel asked, almost in disbelief at his request, “This might be witchcraft or even the doings of a pagan god. If you were here for a purpose, then sending you back without doing what you came to do, might turn out to be highly inconvenient,” Castiel explained, her blue eyes trailed on Dean’s face, willing him with her stare alone to understand the gravity of her words, before she averted them and fell silent. Dean raised an eyebrow at that, Castiel breaking eye-contact was like a big bad sign that there was far more to this than she let on. 

“Purpose?” Dean wondered, because - suspicious as he was - he didn’t want to get into the unspoken stuff right now.  Castiel raised her hands, shrugging.

“Like when I sent you back to retrieve the phoenix ash to defeat Eve?” Dean snorted at that. “You really do mess around in time as you please.” He looked over at her and she brushed her hair out of her face to stare at him.

“Oh right. Because the first few times it was my idea to jump around time,” he said reproachfully and Castiel wrinkled her brow in displeasure, “as far as I recall it was you stupid dicks that wanted me to learn my lesson! Heck, this might well be the same thing all over again!”

“And how,” the woman wondered, turning around on her knees to face him. He was a bit taken aback by her dark expression. Feeling intimidated by Castiel left him with a very sour taste in his mouth. “Do you think this could have happened?” she continued, but other than before she never got any closer than the distance he had first chosen. “There are no angels left at your disposal, Dean.” Dean schooled his features, turning surprised eyes into a heated glare. There was a charged silence between them with Castiel observing every movement of his eyes, every nervous twitch of muscles. Until he gave in and turned away even though he could still feel her eyes boring into the side of his face. There it was again, a whole ocean of unspoken words and Dean was just not ready to go there. There was no point in starting an argument with Castiel, no point in throwing accusations and dragging still bleeding wounds back into this battlefield between them. Because this was not his Castiel, this was some other Castiel who might have already talked it through with some other Dean. And his Castiel was dead, merely a recurring character in the re-runs of his nightmares.

“Okay, fine then,” he spat, trying to not make this sound like admitting defeat. “If it wasn’t angels, what else could have sent me here?” Castiel breathed in and out loudly through her nose, her chest rising and falling. “And why?”

“I don’t know,” Castiel said and turned her head away as if she had suddenly lost all interest in this conversation. She got up and Dean looked up at her as she took a few steps, studying the remains of the bar. She disappeared behind the counter, only to reappear afterwards with a displeased expression. Dean watched her circle the room with perplexed curiosity until Castiel finally returned to his side and shoved the bucket of water towards him with one boot. He stared at clear liquid and then back up at Castiel.

“What should I do with that?”

“Get some of the mud off you,” she told him, “there’s nothing big enough for you to take a bath in.”

“Why?” Dean demanded, refusing to take the washcloth inside the bucket even though he now realized how much the drying mud was actually itching. It didn’t mean he couldn’t try to stubbornly defy her.

“We should get moving, preferably before night-fall,” she told him and started packing the few things, Dean had seen scattered around the room, “there seems to be no point in staying here. We’ll have to figure out how you got here, but we shouldn’t attempt to do so here. This place is not sufficiently warded and there’s only so much time before you’ll require food and water.” Dean muttered some complaints but finally did as he was told, washing his face with pleasantly cold water. When his skin was as clean as it could be without him taking off his clothes (that smelled like they had been pulled out of a swamp and Dean wondered if that wasn’t what Castiel had actually done).

“I’ll wash your clothes when we’ve got the leisure and the tools,” Castiel said and Dean wiped his face with his sleeve before looking up. She had a backpack slung over her shoulder and her eyes trailed on Dean, a mix of doubt and expectation on her face. Which really was a strange look on Castiel’s already changed face. When Dean got up on his feet Castiel too was prompted into motion and she went to the door. It was actually nothing more than a few planks of wood hanging precariously in rusty hinges with yellow light streaming through the cracks. Castiel opened the door, leaving Dean to follow as well.

He took stock once more, studying the room, now completely bare expect the bucket with the water. There was nothing of his left; his gun was tucked away, as was Ruby’s knife. He took a deep breath and followed Castiel outside.

And got his first glimpse of what the future had in store for him.


	2. Chapter 2

**Part 1**

The smell. It was the very first thing that got to him. Like a living beast with claws and the blood of a thousand people on its tongue and the rotting remains of limbs stuck between its decaying teeth it assaulted him and made him stagger back against the rickety wall of the bar. This was not the stench of hell, not sulfur or the wet disgraceful odor of what was left of mangled souls. This was life and death blown up to unbearable volumes. Dean tried to breathe through his mouth, but the taste was still there, heavy and dry in the cavity of his mouth. He blinked through his stinging eyes and coughed, which was the most dignified response he could possibly hope to come up with. Castiel was standing some way off, too far to reach out to him, watching with clear blue eyes. Dean tried to look past her, see where they were.

The sky was a sickly yellow, dusty and dry like chalk drawn over a slate the color of mire. He couldn’t see the sun behind the vapors rising up from the ground and dulling out even more of the sky. But it was bright, too bright; the harsh yellow of an autumn’s setting sun. The ground was dark dry soil with thick looking blades of dry grass growing in patches. Behind Castiel the soil seemed to become wetter and the ground was covered by low plants, mostly ferns and some flowerless bushes with white speckled leathery leaves. Then the water started. It was completely still, not one ripple on the dirty surface. Dead leaves, rotten wood and algae gathered on the surface and he couldn’t see deeper, couldn’t even guess what lurked in the murky water underneath. Beyond that he didn’t see far because there were trees growing out of the water, long smooth roots twisting together and branching out and up into a canopy of rust colored leaves. On the banks of the body of water he could see more vegetation, almost exotic in its variety of plants, but still mostly tall grass and bushes. There were higher trees too, red and yellow peeking out underneath the leaves and Dean recognized it as some kind of round fruit but had no idea what exactly it was. Apples? He could see many more on the floor between the grass in varying states of ripeness and decomposition.

“Dean. We have to move.” Dean had a hard time focusing his attention on Castiel, who had her nose up in the air, as if she’d be checking the wind. Only there was no wind, nothing at all. The sky was completely void of clouds and no gentle breeze even stirred the grass. The air was dry and even though the temperatures were moderate, Dean felt himself starting to sweat.

“Where the hell are we?” Dean wondered and Castiel lowered her head and then turned into one direction. “Hey!” He started to move when she walked away, her steps quick and easy on the uneven terrain as if she’d walked here before a thousand times. And maybe she had, Dean had no way to know. Heck, he didn’t even have the slightest idea where they were. It certainly didn’t look like any corner of the States that he’d visited before.

“These parts here no longer have a name, this is empty land, trying to refer to it with the terms you know would be pointless. This is not the world you know, at least not yet,” Castiel told him and Dean groaned, trying to keep up with her.

“Wow, thank you,” he muttered loudly enough for her to hear his distaste. Castiel looked over her shoulder, studying him before she turned around again and then changed directions, moving straight off the almost path before them and into the undergrowth.

“If you think you can better orientate yourself, then fine. We’re in Illinois, but not too far from St. Louis…,” she told him and he was surprised that she was so quiet moving deeper into the forest.

“You’ve got to be kidding me! We’re actually still in the States?!” Dean asked, swatting away branches and taking his gun out again to feel safer in this unknown territory. “What the heck happened? Another Croatoan Apocalypse?!”

“Croatoan? Was that what has happened in the future Zachariah showed you?” Castiel wondered, looking over her shoulder again and still not even once faltering while she moved. Dean was more stumbling than walking after her. “It didn’t happen.” She didn’t say _you averted it_ or anything comforting like that and Dean wondered what kind of end time he was stuck in now.

“But this isn’t normal!” he protested, as if complaining about it would somehow change the situation.

“Hardly, but this is our reality,” Castiel answered, looking ahead of her again and Dean groaned when she picked a trail that started leading even further into the forest around them. Also, the ground underneath his feet got slippery, big smelly plants trailing their path and tree branches heavy with fruit creating an interwoven arch above their heads. His clothes were sticking to Dean’s skin, soaked through with sweat already and he wasn’t even all that hot. The air that entered his lungs tasted stale and ashy, scratching in his throat. His vision became unclear as sweat dripped into his eyes and when he wiped away the stinging salt he swayed and stepped into water.

He looked down at his feet, ankle deep in dark liquid, the soles of his shoes sinking into the turf below. It was not cold and offered him no kind of refreshment and the small pond he was standing in looked far too disgusting to even think of washing his face or drinking. But he was tired, his feet hurt, his head hurt and the air was heavy in his lungs.

He knew just a split second before his knees gave out that he was a total idiot for moving from the bar without getting answers first. He couldn’t see Castiel anywhere and it might have been the dumbest idea yet to follow someone he didn’t know at all and couldn’t possibly trust. Then there were suddenly hands on him, strong fingers closing around his upper arms so tightly it hurt him and he was pulled away from the water, his feet coming loose in a squelching sound. He could see Castiel glaring at him, could see her mouth moving.

_Get… impossible… hear me… Dean…_

But there were dark circles swirling before him, circling circling on Castiel’s pale skin and then nothing.

* * *

Faint light was cutting through the foggy darkness, murmurs and static a low hissing inside of his ears.  His head was throbbing uncomfortably. He thought he saw a glittering vein of gold in the distance, dulled by the shadowy masses of unconsciousness. It was wound around something, some shape Dean couldn’t make out.

But then he woke to a wet cloth hitting him square in the face. He gasped and pulled it from his face to glare around him. He saw the back of Castiel moving away from him and as she didn’t react to the glare directed at it Dean turned his eyes upwards.

He should no longer be surprised to wake up in random places and at least this one wasn’t a run-down, abandoned bar. He was in a small room, all walls unadorned concrete, giving it an air of a cellar room. The ceiling was slightly slanted where he lay and he could see a window set into the concrete just above him. Its wooden shutters were closed and the room was dark and cool. Dean allowed himself to relax and touched the wet washcloth against his cheeks and his neck. He probably still had a fever.

“Are you better?” Castiel’s voice came from his right and he turned his head to see her sitting on the floor, back against the wall. He couldn’t see her too clearly in the dawn like darkness. His eyes strayed and he spotted a backpack propped against the wall next to her and there was a closed door in the wall where the foot of the bed pointed. The room was very barren, but Dean had seen far worse and it was an improvement to the outside. At least it didn’t stink.

“Where are we?” he wondered instead of giving an answer, letting the washcloth drop to the floor because there wasn’t even a night table. His gun was there too, lying on the floor close to the bed, but he didn’t see his other possessions, whatever he had brought with him.

“I took you to the closest Settlement…,” Castiel explained, but made no move to get up from the floor. Dean was feeling sluggish, but he heaved a sigh and sat up on the bed. It was nothing more than a metallic frame and a hard mattress thrown on it, but the sheets were clean and it was better than sleeping on the floor. Apart from a dull head-ache and what he might guess to be an ache in his limbs coming from the low fever he seemed fine.

“You carried me or what?” Dean wondered even though there certainly had been nothing like civilization close by and scratched at his ankle peeking out from underneath the white comforter. His feet felt a bit odd and itchy.

“Don’t scratch,” Castiel warned him with a tired sigh but still wouldn’t get up from the floor. He lifted an eyebrow at her, but instead of getting up he frowned down at himself.

“I’m naked.” Dean had no idea how to feel about the fact that he had missed being stripped while unconscious. If it had been any other girl to undress him he’d probably have made a lecherous comment, but with Castiel… Well… He put his hands in his lap, just to have a bit more cover than the thin, white blanket.

“This is hardly the time to develop a sense of modesty, Dean,” Castiel told him, but then she shifted and he could see her press her palms to her mouth. For a moment he thought it might be a sign she was fighting back a wave of nausea, but she straightened soon after, hitting her head softly against the wall. “As to answer your question; of course I didn’t carry you. That would have taken too much time. I flew.” Dean widened his eyes, not sure why he was surprised. She lifted herself up on her feet with apparently some trouble and got to her backpack. “Well, theoretically speaking I did carry you,” she muttered, but Dean chose to ignore that part.

“So you still have your wings…,” he stated but Castiel didn’t answer him right away, busying herself with rummaging through the stuff in her backpack until she came up with some clothes. Dean frowned up at her when she stood in front of him, putting the clothes in his lap.

“I have wings… But they’ve been in better condition…,” she confessed after a while and put one hand on the frame of the bed before bending close to Dean. Dean noticed two things: first of all, Castiel had pulled off jacket and cardigan and the second being that she had her breasts tugged into a plain, white cotton bra.

“Dude, get your boobs out of my face!” Dean hissed, disbelieving that he’d actually said that, and Castiel, who had been feeling Dean’s temperature with the back of her hand, was moving away, frowning. Her shirt was close-fitting enough that it left little to the imagination. “Why the hell are you a girl anyway?” Castiel took one step back and Dean was glad to have her out of his personal space even though it was slightly odd that she’d do it on her own accord. “Unless in this timeline-“

“No, I had a male vessel. This was how I was brought back this time…,” she cut him off and a grim grin stole onto her lips. “Ironic, isn’t it…”

“Wha-“ Castiel shook her head and put her hand to her mouth again, rubbing her nose as if it were running. “Okay, whatever.” Dean pulled the shirt over his head, finding it a bit small, but it would do until he got his own clothes back.

“I make you uncomfortable,” she stated, but her voice wasn‘t judgmental, merely stating facts.

“Hell yeah,” Dean said and, with a considerable amount of reluctance, threw back the covers to pull on underwear and pants, “next to the girl body, you’re kinda dead in my timeline and I’m not just gonna pretend that I’m happy about seeing you. But arguing with you… that’s pointless.” She looked at him and he was sure she knew pretty well what there was to argue about.

“Right… Well, I’m glad you at least make an effort to talk to me,” Castiel said and Dean raised his head to study her. She heaved a sigh. “Last time we met, we established that an angel blade cannot kill me now. Again. It was nice to get a reminder though.” Dean didn’t know if he was more surprised about Castiel learning to use sarcasm or about the words he just heard.

“You…” he frowned, trying to put the pieces together, “you mean future me stabbed you with an angel blade?” Castiel shrugged, not exactly the reaction he had been hoping for, because it led him straight to the next question. “And it couldn’t kill you. An angel blade didn’t kill an angel… which means…”

“That I’m not an angel anymore, yes,” Castiel said and even though the words were spoken so dryly he could see her eyes narrow. “At least not enough to be killed by the blade. It does hurt me though, in case you need that piece of information. It makes me bleed and it leaves me weak.”

“Uhm… Thanks I guess?” Castiel looked at him and Dean held her gaze, unable to say anything satisfactory. After a while he lowered his head, frowning at the hands in his lap. Whatever she was, whatever she had been resurrected as was apparently still powerful, maybe as powerful as Castiel had been after the souls. Dean lowered his eyes to the white bed sheet, trying to wrap his head around the issue. He probably shouldn’t trust her, he had no idea what she was, but she was the only person who could probably help him get back to his time. Her or… himself and Sam. The realization came as quite a surprise, but before Dean could ask he heard the sound of a single drop hitting the bedspread. He looked down and could see a dark stain next to his knee. He looked up just in time to see a trail of blood sluggishly flowing from Castiel’s nose over her lips.

“You’re… bleeding,” Dean said warily and Castiel widened her eyes for a second before rubbing her nose again.

“I overexerted myself flying twice in a short amount of time…” she said, wiping the blood from her upper lip, “a bit of rest and I’ll be fine…”

“You’re bleeding, idiot! You’re not supposed to bleed!” Dean hissed and Castiel took her hand away, her gaze surprisingly clear and severe.

“There are many things I’m not supposed to do,” she told him quietly. Dean grimaced and wanted to press her for some answers, but his words got stuck in his throat and he tensed. The blood that flowed from her nose was black.

And that was all it took to break it all down. Before Dean knew it he was off from the bed and had picked up his gun from the floor.

“Dean-“

The sound of the gun was harsh and incredibly loud in the small space of this bedroom. Castiel seemed surprised, her eyes widened, but then she looked down at her stomach, off-white shirt soon turning a wet crimson. Red, normal human blood. Dean gripped the gun tighter, knuckles turning white and aching. He tried not to falter under her intense gaze, the blue in her eyes clear despite the darkness in the room.

“Okay, I don’t know what kind of tricks you’re pulling,” Dean said, his voice hard and low. “But there’s only one kind of supernatural bastard I know that bleeds black goo!” Castiel still stared at him, her expression was different now, hurt, betrayed, but when she looked down her face was wiped clear off any emotion.

“Silver,” she stated, voice steady and almost conversational, “cannot hurt me, but I’ll bleed.” She reached into the hole in her shirt and Dean almost shuddered when her fingers dug into her flesh, pulling out the bullet. She lifted it up and studied it, but when she showed it to him it was free of blood but the hole in her shirt remained.

Dean wanted to shout at her, demand an explanation, try his luck with another bullet, but there were suddenly footsteps coming from the outside and soon afterwards the door was forcefully thrown open. Flashlights shone into the room.

“Is everything alright in here?! We heard a gunshot!” It was the voice of a woman, but it was hard to see her behind the flashlight.

“We’re fine,” Castiel said and Dean was surprised to find an easy smile on her lips when he dared to look away from the intruders. “Just a little mishap with the gun…” The flashlight was lowered after a while and Dean could hear two sets of feet entering.

“Mishap, right,” the same woman growled, her tone sarcastic, and she flashed her light at Dean. There was a man standing behind her, lingering in the open doorway, equipped with a machinegun. Dean could see that the woman – tall, dark haired and probably past her forties - now focused her attention back on Castiel, but the flashlight was still pointed at him as if that would be enough to keep him in line. For this confused moment where nothing made any sense it actually was. “You know that you’re always welcome to stay overnight,” she started, but then she turned her head to look at Dean, “but we don’t want any trouble. If he wishes to stay then he’ll have to behave.”

“Thank you, Dorothy, but we’ll be on our way after I’ve collected everything and he’s been fed,” Castiel replied and the woman nodded slowly, still glaring at Dean with poorly concealed hostility.

“Okay, fine then. I’ll see you later,” she said dismissively and with a last distrusting look she turned around, ushering her silent companion out of the room and closing the door behind her. The room was cast back into pre-dawn darkness and an uncomfortable silence.

“I’d appreciate it if you didn’t shoot me again.” Castiel’s voice made Dean turn his head around, gun still in hand. She had her hands casually placed on her hips, fingers through the belt loops. “It will only take me longer to regain my strength if I have to heal myself over and over again…” Dean opened his mouth and closed it silently, trying to regain his voice, but in the end he settled on throwing his hands up in exasperation and letting himself fall onto the bed.

“Fucked up time travelling!” he hissed and rubbed his throbbing head, but then he lifted his chin defiantly and stared up at Castiel. She was standing just a bit further than an arm’s length away from his bed, arms now crossed over her chest and waiting. “What are you?” He emphasized his question by casually waving the gun at her before he was discouraged by her cranky look and, with a heavy sigh, put the gun back down on the floor. Wouldn’t do him any good anyway, other than calling back that Dorothy chick or wasting silver bullets. Castiel quickly lifted her eyebrows, huffed and inclined her head to the side.

“Honest answer?”

“Well, any answer,” Dean spat, “and I’ll decide whether I believe you or not.” Castiel snorted, her head tilted back now, staring at the ceiling as if she’d be asking the heavens for patience. And hell, maybe she was. Dean had no damned idea what was going on in this 2014. He didn’t even know whether this Castiel-lookalike chick was actually Cas and part of his head hoped she wasn’t. Even though another part of his less clear thinking head longed her to be. Just to have him back, in any way. He didn’t quite know what to do with that thought so Dean ignored it completely and waited for Castiel to explain herself.

“I don’t know.” Dean blinked in surprise, because that honestly hadn’t been the answer he’d been looking for.

“You don’t… know?” he repeated, “how the hell can you not know!!” Castiel hunched her shoulders, but her eyes met Dean’s.

“I think the closest thing I could come up to define what I am is a mutated angel.” Dean frowned, recalling that Death had used the same words all those months ago. Dean opened his mouth to speak but a deep sigh from Castiel stopped him. She rubbed her forehead, eyes closed. “Dean…” She opened her eyes again and they were tired, pleading. “Just get one or two more hours of sleep… I’ll answer your questions afterwards. But I do have to rest.” Dean frowned at that, sitting a bit straighter on the edge of the bed.

“I didn’t know mutated angels needed rest,” he said and really, he should leave it at that. Give her a chance to explain but something dark had been roused inside of him at the sight of that stain on her. And before he knew it his mouth was already spitting venom into the renewed silence between them: “I thought they’d go smiting people and destroying things 24/7.” Castiel did the surprising thing and actually looked shocked at his statement. As if this topic was some kind of unholy ground that neither of them had wanted to touch. Something they had silently agreed upon not to talk about. Because it would be pointless, because it would be painful. But now Dean had done it and she looked at him with all the pain and guilt in her eyes that Dean felt gnawing inside of him too. But anger was so much easier, so much closer to the surface.

When Castiel spoke again, her voice was tense, spoken through clenched teeth.

“I am not that thing I’ve become after opening Purgatory! There are no souls left within me!” Dean couldn’t possibly stop now even though he did notice how her pale cheeks turned even paler and her shoulders became tense.

“Oh yes?! But you bleed black goo!” He just wanted to stab, cause pain, now that he had the chance to actually fight it out. He knew it was pointless, he knew that Castiel might have already faced his anger and frustration before. This was not his Castiel, he probably didn’t even have a right to shout at her. But what else could he possibly do?! Pretend as if everything was alright? Pretend that he wasn’t hurt? The only kind of pretending he could do was that he wasn’t relieved to see her alive. And it was easy with all the confusion around him.

Castiel stared at him, but after a while shook her head. “Dean, for mercy’s sake, just go to sleep or I’ll mojo you there.” Dean narrowed his eyes.

“No way I can sleep with some kind of freak monster in the room!” Castiel had the grace to at least take less than a second to hide how this had hurt her behind a mask of irritation.

“So I’ll go outside,” she said in an even voice, straightening. “Salt the door, paint devil’s traps, waste your blood on Enochian sigils and angel wards. And while you’re at it I could get you a bucket of borax.” The last part had been nothing more than a growl and Dean blinked at her a few times. To feel her frustration and anger upon him had never been pleasant and it finally snapped Dean out of his mantra of “hurt her as much as she hurt me”. It didn’t mean that he could stop being childish about it. So he groaned.

“You’re awfully touchy! You on your period or what?” Castiel frowned in initial incomprehension, but then she visibly relaxed and tugged her hands into the pockets of her jeans.

“Shut up assbutt and go to sleep.” Dean almost laughed at that, but he felt it was hardly appropriate when Castiel’s face returned to one of poorly guarded hurt. He didn’t tell her that he was not tired at all and that he saw little sense in getting back into bed after he got dressed not too long ago. And he didn’t tell her that some of the things he’d said weren’t just for show and that he was actually a bit wary of going to sleep without having an idea what to guard against.

“Good night, Dean,” Castiel said after a while and she did leave the room, closing the door gently behind her. While he looked at it, an angel banishing sigil started to form, wet lines of blood trickling down the smooth surface. Dean felt like an ass.

* * *

_I think he’s sleeping. I don’t get through to him at all… What if something goes wrong? What if-_

Dean woke up to the same low white noise in his head and the same irritating but dull head-ache. For a split second, just before he was entirely awake, he thought he’d heard Sam speak to him, but as he stared blearily up at the window in the slated ceiling and the dull smog like sky the noise in his ears gave way to the sound of the door opening. Dean turned his head and saw Castiel peeking her head in, her hair fixed to the top of her head in a messy bun. She greeted him by inclining her head towards him, but didn’t wait to receive a nod in return before coming in and shutting the door. She knelt down to put her scattered belongings into the rucksack.

“If you’re rested I’ll take you to the bathroom and to get some food,” she told him. She loosened the ribbon and her hair fell out of its confines, the longest strands just past her shoulders, the slight waves not yet tamed by a hair brush. Dean had never seen Cas interact with a hair brush, so probably this one didn’t either, woman or not.

“Good morning to you too, sweetheart,” he groaned, rubbing the sleep from his eyes, but he got up. He looked around for his boots but when he couldn’t spot them he asked Castiel about them.

“You can’t use them anymore. They were soaked through and unsalvageable. We’ll get you new ones later,” she told him, but then she tossed him something. It landed on Dean’s lap and with no small amount of horror he noticed it to be some kind of leather moccasins with a thin decorative bow. “Stop looking at them like that and put them on. I know they are not made for hunting, but we’ll exchange them later on.”

“Not being appropriate for hunting is their least problem,” Dean muttered but still pulled them on. And he was going to ignore that they actually fit his feet well and that the worn leather felt rather comfortable. He had some kind of honor to uphold and he didn’t want to be seen wearing frigging moccasins. Or flip flops. Or crocs. Or ballerinas. Dean made a face at his feet for good measure, but then he looked at Castiel. She nodded at him and opened the door. When Dean walked outside he realized that he was in some kind of corridor, bare concrete just like their room. Castiel locked the door, pocketed the keys and led Dean down the corridor until they got to another door. They were outside now and Dean blinked his eyes to adjust to how bright it was. He looked up at the sky – still yellowish – and noticed that the sun was only a faintly gleaming disk behind layers and layers of what seemed to be mist. The air was slightly cooler here than it had been in that strange swamp like forest in Illinois and Dean was glad for it.

They were in what seemed to be some kind of camping site; the floor alternated between hard packed dirt and grass and there were a couple of concrete one story bungalow buildings lined in a messy circle to create some sort of yard. He could see a grass field there and some benches and a couple of kids tossing around a ball. Castiel guided Dean past the field but she turned to wave at the kids who shouted greetings at her. They approached a bigger concrete building with windows towards the top of the walls and a green copper roof. Castiel pushed the door open and Dean found himself in a small entrance hall lined with a couple of lockers behind wooden benches. Castiel dropped her backpack inside one of them, having to push a bit for it to fit, and Dean silently followed her to a desk where a woman was stitching something. She looked up and smiled at Castiel.

“Ah! I heard you were here! We expected you in another two weeks!” she said cheerfully and put her work down to get up from her chair. She looked at Dean curiously, but didn’t ask him any questions, instead she turned back to Castiel with another cheery smile. “And it seems you’ve picked up a prospective settler?”

“Not quite,” Castiel told her, “we’re just passing through, but he needed a place to sleep. And shower, preferably.” The woman laughed, but she refrained from small talk and turned around to get a box from the shelves behind her. It had a paper with something written on it attached to the front. When she placed it on the table Dean could read that it spelled “Castiel”. Castiel took it and thanked the woman, before she turned to walk away, beckoning Dean to follow. She headed to a door with “Gentlemen” written on it, but she didn’t even falter before pushing it open. Behind was another room, light filled and with tiles on both floors and walls up to the many windows and then the copper ceiling. There were three doors lining the wall, shelves with woven baskets next to where Dean stood as well as a couple of benches. In the middle there were wash basins and towards the back he could see shower stalls.

“Go on,” Castiel said and sat down on one of the benches. Dean frowned, but in the end nature called and he opened one of the doors that led to a spacious room containing a toilet, another wash basin and a mirror above it. Dean wondered if he was in one of those settlements Castiel had mentioned earlier. It didn’t seem like a normal city, but it did bear some resemblance to Camp Citaqua of the alternative 2014. Well, maybe a bit friendlier and a lot cleaner. And it had toilet paper. But he really had to figure out what was so special about year 2014 that he’d get thrown there not only once but twice. He washed his hands and checked his face in the mirror, frowning and rubbing a hand over his growing stubble and through his hair.

Pushing the door open he found Castiel still sitting on the bench, elbows on her thighs. She got up and put a towel, a bottle of shampoo, shower gel and even a razor on the bench next to her.

“What?” she asked with a frown when Dean only snorted.

“I don’t know about sharing a girl razor with a girl. You’re shaving your legs with this one.”

“I’m not,” Castiel replied in slight indignation, then she pointed towards the shelf with the baskets. “You should take a shower. The water here’s clean.” Dean lifted his eyebrow, but she just jerked her head towards the shelves again clearly getting impatient and Dean complied. He walked past the benches and shot Castiel a look – which she returned with renewed calm – before he undressed.

“Why are you in the men’s room anyway? I’m not a child, I don’t need you to mother me,” he told her, but didn’t turn around. “Geez and I still don’t know why you’re a girl. This is kinda awkward…”

“Just because my body’s female?” she wondered and Dean looked around again, only in his underwear now and he refused to get entirely naked in front of her even though she had stripped him before. And probably seen him worse than naked.

“Doesn’t that bug you? You’ve worn Jimmy for all the time you’ve been on earth…,” Dean argued but Castiel merely shrugged.

“No, even though this is exclusively my body and not a vessel it doesn’t matter to me what form it takes…,” she told him, “and I find that people do react to me with more trust when I’m in a female body.” Dean snorted, but for some reason he was just glad that she was not the same as that drug addicted, sex-crazed decadent shadow he’s met in Zachariah’s future. “Well, being on my period every now and then is not exactly the most pleasant thing I’ve encountered, but I deal with it.” Said in that dry, no-nonsense tone, Dean had no idea if she was joking. Probably joking, though. “Get in the shower, Dean.” Dean wrinkled his nose at her ordering tone, but took the shower stuff Castiel had laid out for him and wandered over to one of the stalls. The door didn’t quite reach to bottom, but Dean was generally pleased that there was a door at all and even a latch to lock it, but he felt too silly to do it. Like the toilet it was agreeably spacious and clean and the water was warm when he switched it on. He got naked quickly, hanging his underwear and the towel on the hook attached to the door. He let out a sigh of relief when he stepped under the pleasant spray.

The lotion smelt of olives but Dean couldn’t really be picky about it right now, happy to finally get the sweat off his body and the mud and grease out of his hair. With equally olive scented shampoo. At least there no longer was a question as to why Castiel had seemed to smell like olive oil. When he deemed himself decently clean and his muscles had relaxed under the spray he switched the water off and used the towel to dry his body and hair. Then he got back into his underwear before he slung the towel around his waist to feel less naked and got out. The steam had fogged up some of the windows and it was warmer now in the communal bath. Castiel was still sitting on the bench and studied him. He ignored her and got to the bench to start dressing again.

“How are your feet?” Castiel wondered and Dean lifted an eyebrow at her, but seeing as the towel slipped past his butt and Castiel followed its movement with her eyes he sputtered something incomprehensible instead of answering. Sure, he wore underwear, but he still didn’t want to get checked out by an angel! Well… mutant angel or something. Whatever. Castiel raised her eyes, looking up at him questioningly as if staring at his ass was perfectly normal behavior.

“Itchy and it seems I have a rash around my ankles,” he said to cover the absurdity of the situation only he seemed to perceive, bending awkwardly to scratch at it. Castiel hit her boot against his calf.

“Stop scratching! It’ll just get inflamed!” Dean snorted, then he straightened to dress.

“Is that because I stepped into that disgusting water?” he wondered and looked over his shoulder.

“Yes,” she replied but wouldn’t offer additional explanations, but she did keep her eyes firmly fixed on Dean’s face. He took half a step back and turned around again.

“I’m still making you nervous?” Castiel wondered, “I am keeping to your rules of personal space. At least mostly.”

“Undressing me and watching me so keenly is not quite respecting my personal space. Especially not if you’re a girl.”

“I didn’t know you were self-conscious in front of girls,” Castiel said and Dean rolled his eyes.

“Don’t get me wrong, you’re quite hot and also totally my type.” He continued on, his voice overlapping with her amused “thank you”: “but you and me… It’s just odd because you’re not the way I remember you to be. I find it hard to wrap my mind around you really being Cas…” He heard Castiel huff at that and after buttoning up his jeans Dean turned towards her, unsure whether it had been the wisest thing (no, definitely not) to flatter her. Castiel got up from the bench and turned her head from one side to the other, as if trying to get rid of some stiffness.

“Well then…” Dean gave a start as her face changed seamlessly as if reality had just shifted. No clawing away of skin, no blurring. He was looking at Castiel’s face, bangs hanging into his eyes, perpetually in need of a shave. He coughed and more of the inky snot trickled down his nose. “This is always unpleasant…”

“Cas…?”

“Yes, Dean?” he asked, his blue eyes trailed on Dean’s face and Dean wanted to say something, or maybe shout or break his knuckles on Castiel’s stubbly jaw, but instead he just tensed.

“God damn it you bastard! How can you even pull that off? Mutated _angel_ my ass!” Dean cried, tossing the towel onto the bench and stalking off towards the sink to shave. In the mirror he could see Castiel reaching under his shirt and bending his arms a bit awkwardly towards his back. He almost chocked on his own spit when he saw Castiel pulling the bra out from underneath his clothes. Leviathan-abilities or not _that_ was rather comical. “So your shape-shifting doesn’t extend to your clothes?” he asked, looking over his shoulder. Castiel walked up to him and handed him some shaving cream before bending over another sink and inspecting his reflection. His clothes were still the same and seemed a bit tighter all around, but apparently he felt no need to change out of them. Even the boots seemed to be okay. Maybe he had enough experience in changing his body to choose clothes that fit either way.

“Apparently not,” he answered dryly and brushed his hair out of his face. It was shorter than his female counterpart’s and reminded him heavily of the Cas he’d met in 2014 even though his facial hair was nothing more than a stubbly shade on his jaw. He really didn’t like the physical similarities so he turned his attention towards getting shaved.

Out of the corner of his eye Dean watched Castiel wipe the black goo off his lips and splashing water on his skin before drying it with his sleeve.

“Cas…,” Dean started when he was done shaving and Castiel lifted an eyebrow.

“You might need to think over your gender perceptions, Dean. I’ve always been just Castiel, no matter my body,” he quipped, but he wore a faint grin as if he was indeed pleased that Dean willingly called him by his nickname again. Dean frowned though.

“Oh shut up,” he said with a snort and handed Castiel the razor and the shaving cream. Castiel did not seem to be interested in getting rid of his stubble and they walked back to the benches where Castiel put everything back into the box with his name.

“So… Shape-shifting is part of your new mojo then?” Castiel shrugged, “that still reeks mighty of Leviathan, you know?”

“Of course I know, Dean… Do you think being the host of the Leviathan has not changed me?” Castiel wondered and his voice sounded rough and bitter. He looked up at Dean, his eyes hard but also regretful. “I don’t know what I am, Dean. I wasn’t lying. Maybe I’m a mutated Leviathan instead of a mutated angel. It’s probably just a matter of perspective.” Before Dean could come up with something to say Castiel had pushed the door open and slipped out of the room. Dean caught up with him at the reception. The woman there didn’t even flinch when Castiel handed her back the box. Castiel got the backpack out of the locker and left the communal bath, Dean on his heels.

“Nobody even reacts to you changing appearance?”

“No, they are used to it. Some are wary of me, but they know me as an angel and take these things to be species specific oddities…,” he replied and started walking away from the building. “But I do try to stick to one form if I can help it.”

“Can’t you?” Dean wondered, still trying to wrap his mind around the shape shifting ability. More impressive than the skills of an Alpha shifter even… No welcome thought.

“If I’m tired,” Castiel said, “then I don’t always manage. Also, at times I just shift without meaning to…”

“Leviathan can imitate anyone they’ve touched or got DNA of,” Dean mused and looked at the back of Castiel’s head. “So you could change into me?”

“Possibly, but I would not want to try,” Castiel answered and stopped when a young girl stepped onto the path. Dean walked up to Castiel and looked down at her - all flowery summer dress and blonde pigtails.

“Hello Amanda,” Castiel said and the girl grinned up at him before she presented him with a folded piece of paper. “You need this delivered?” Amanda shook her head, still grinning brightly.

“No, it’s for you! A present!” she chirped and before Castiel could reply the girl skipped away. Castiel wordlessly put the paper inside of his jacket, before moving on.

“Just touching a person will not make me change,” he continued their conversation as if the distraction hadn’t happened at all. “But I still avoid doing so…” Dean kept his silence and watched where they were going. They seemed to be headed for a two-story building with a rounded front that stood out from more of the same concrete blocks. There was nothing to indicate what the purpose of the building was and Dean assumed there was no need for it because everyone seemed to be familiar with anything here. Getting closer Dean noticed the smell of food in the air and he got his hopes up that they were actually headed for some sort of diner.

* * *

 

Dean wasn’t disappointed; when Castiel opened the door of their destination he noticed about a dozen other people inside the one room. Like the bath it was clean and light-flooded with a high ceiling. It was not an elaborate place, the floor made of wood and the walls painted concrete. There were both small tables and long ones for many people. Most of the patrons chose to sit together on the long table in the middle, discussing among themselves. Castiel lifted his hand in greeting and a young man got up, walking over to them.

“So you’re really in town! We’ve just seen you pass through about two weeks ago!” He was dark haired with green eyes and a pleasant enough face. “And man-shaped today! What a pity!” Castiel shrugged at that and the guy laughed before extending his hand to Dean. “You’re new here? Looking for a place to stay? I’m Marcus by the way.”

“Dean.”

“No, we’re just moving through,” Castiel replied in Dean’s stead and Marcus lifted his hands in mock disappointment. “Can you provide food?”

“Of course, angel,” Marcus said cheerfully and grabbed a menu off the nearest table, handing it to Dean. “Just take a seat and I’ll be right back with coffee.” He clapped Dean on the back and left. Dean frowned after him.

“Douche,” he muttered under his breath, but Castiel already chose a small table next to the window. “That your boyfriend or something? He was mighty friendly with you.” Castiel pulled a face at that.

“Of course not,” he snorted and leant back in his chair. Dean lifted his eyebrows at him but then he looked at the menu. It actually had a nice selection considering the place being rather odd. It did have running water but the bedroom he’d slept in didn’t even have electricity. Castiel looked out of the window where Dean could see over quite a few small concrete blocks that looked as if they had just tossed a coin and then build wherever it fell. There was no perceivable order to them, no streets or any signs or defining landmarks. Just flat country and concrete blocks under a strangely close, dirty yellow sky.

Marcus came back with the promised coffee and ready to take Dean’s orders. When Castiel didn’t ask for anything but a cup of tea and Marcus didn’t try to get a food order out of him, Dean turned to study the man across from him.

“So you don’t eat,” he observed when Marcus had gone to shout orders into the kitchen and Castiel lifted his eyebrow at him.

“Not usually. I do need to feed from time to time.” Dean blinked in surprise. He’d expected to hear a no and tick his “does not eat” from his still-an-angel list.

“ _Feed_?” he asked at the strange choice of words and leant over the table with a frown. “You don’t munch on humans though like the Leviathan bastards, do you?” Castiel wrinkled his nose at that, face suddenly stormy and dangerous.

“No. I told you. I am _not_ a Leviathan.” Dean leant back, rolling his eyes.

“Geez, I’m just trying to figure you out! Forgive me when I’m being suspicious when suddenly transported to the future for no apparent reason and someone that got eaten up by Leviathans is miraculously back alive! I’m just trying to survive here!” Castiel shook his head, but didn’t say more on the subject and maybe it was for the best. They were in a public place after all and the people at the table kept shooting them looks. They seemed to be quite wary of Dean, not overly friendly as Marcus had been. Their looks reminded him of those that chick from last night had shot him.

_We don’t want any trouble_.

Dean got his order from cheerful Marcus and muttered a thanks before turning to his food. Lots of vegetables, mashed potatoes and scrambled eggs with a little bit of bacon on the side. Not necessarily his preferred breakfast food but the only thing that’d had a bit of meat on it.

“I don’t know if the angel’s given you the tour yet, but these are all clean.” Dean made some sort of acknowledging noise because he had no idea what Marcus was talking about, but it was probably best to play along. “Vegetables are growing just fine and we’ve got an expanding farm. Not much meat around yet, but enough to keep us happy. We could need some strong helping hands,” he said and hit Dean in the upper arm. “So if you want to stay just drop by at the Office!”

“Uh… Thank you.” Marcus handed Castiel the tea and with a nod towards him Marcus went back to the table with the other people. Dean looked at Castiel questioningly.

“I will explain when we’re outside, those people do not need to know that you are ignorant of the system. Now eat up so we can be on our way.” Dean snorted but he was hungry enough to let it go. The food was actually good, at least better than a lot of diner food he’d come across over the years. “But where exactly are we going?”

“I assume I’ll just continue on my way and hope we can figure out what sent you here,” he said and Dean noticed that Castiel avoided his eyes. “But if you would prefer to stay at the Settlement and wait then I won’t force you to leave.”

“Do I want to stay at the settlement?” Dean asked, moving some peas around his plate. “Is there anyone here that could help me? A hunter maybe or some books I can consult?”

“Not in this Settlement… It’s not really the age of hunters anymore, Dean…” Dean blinked at that.

“What are you talking about? There’s always a need of hunters!” he protested.

“Not if there is nothing to hunt,” Castiel told him calmly and Dean wrinkled his brow. That couldn’t possibly be true. There were always things to hunt! Unless he was actually in some kind of post gigantic catastrophe of the supernatural world and humans were all that was left. Humans and some kind of mutant angel.

“What about the Leviathan…?” Dean asked hesitatingly and Castiel sighed deeply, closing his eyes and setting down his tea cup. When he opened his eyes again he didn’t look up at Dean.

“You can’t hunt Leviathan, Dean…”  Well, so much for hoping that they’d just disappear if given time. Would have been too good to be true.

“So they’re still around,” Dean observed more than asked and Castiel nodded gravely. “Just great…” Dean dug the heel of his hand into his eye and then rubbed his forehead with a frustrated snarl. “What the hell have Sam and I been doing in this timeline for the last two years?”

“I think you’ve been trying to survive…” That calm but severe statement made Dean stare at Castiel. Of course, they’ve always tried to survive, but out of Castiel’s mouth and in light of where (or rather _when_ ) they were it seemed even more ominous. He couldn’t quite get his mouth to work around the knot in the back of his throat and before he knew it Marcus was back at their table and cleaning up.

“Uh, Cas, you’ve got my wallet?” Dean wondered when he noticed that he had no way of paying anything. Marcus laughed though, clapping him on his shoulder.

“You’re with the angel, Dean. No need to work for your share,” Marcus said then he shot Castiel a grin, which he returned, albeit a bit slowly, then Marcus was gone again. Dean frowned in confusion, not necessarily because of the free food (free food was good) but something else he couldn’t quite put his finger on. Castiel got up, grabbed the backpack from the free chair next to him and walked from the table. He waved at the people on the long table, got some “bless you”s and “see you later”s in return and Dean followed him out.

“I need to be at the Office and then we can leave. I don’t know how much I should actually tell you about it, but you should know how Settlements work.” Castiel said, looking at Dean who just shrugged. The _just in case you can’t go back_ was left unsaid but there was no need to. Dean knew that this was the worst case scenario with which he had to deal with even if Castiel had the mojo to send him back. It probably didn’t hurt to know a bit more of what he should prepare for. Hands in his pockets, Dean followed Castiel along another uneven path between small grass hills and concrete blocks, but other than the place he woke up at, these parts started to look friendlier. Some houses had colorful doors or shutters, others were painted in vibrant colors or what looked like children’s wall paintings. People were up and about, carrying things, painting, fixing stuff. They passed a bigger building with steam coming out of the open windows and washing lines extending from all four walls like cobwebs. Instead of passing the building, Castiel headed for it and entered through a wooden side door. The hot, moist air made Dean cough immediately. It smelt strongly of detergent and there was so much steam he couldn’t see properly, but he followed the Castiel shaped silhouette before him and was glad to find himself in another, drier room. There were several huge wooden tables with clothes piled on top of them in plastic baskets or in messy heaps.

“Oh? You need something?” The woman who had addressed Castiel looked a bit stern, her hair greying and face lined even though she couldn’t be much older than Dean himself. Her eyes shifted to Dean and she looked him up and down. “I see. Just let me check if we can spare something. You’ve learnt how to mend your clothes yet?”

“I am making progress, thank you,” Castiel said and the woman rolled her eyes, but she now had a faint smile on her lips. “But I only have one bra left… I don’t know how to mend those.”

“Just stay male then, sweetie, you don’t have to worry about bras,” the woman said, walking past Dean with only a glance thrown his way, before rummaging through a heap of clothes.

“I look good in a bra,” was Castiel’s almost proud retort and Dean widened his eyes in surprise. Had he indeed just made a joke?

“Yeah right, Cas. I saw you trying to get out of it once you’ve shifted,” Dean told him, but couldn’t keep himself from chuckling, especially when Castiel glared at him. The woman turned around, tossing Dean a bag stuffed with clothes.

“Are you two friends or something?” she wondered, but instead of waiting for an answer she pointed at the bag, “one pair of jeans, four pairs of socks, four pieces of underwear, two undershirts, two shirts and one jacket. Just the basic of what everyone else receives around here. We can’t spare much more. If you need more you’ll have to earn it.”

“Thank you… But we’re not staying,” Castiel said, beating Dean to it. Dean started to dislike not being able to come up with his own replies. The woman heaved a sigh, but she shrugged and showed Castiel a couple of bras.

“I think maybe this one?” the woman asked and held a pale blue one with white dots against Castiel’s chest. “well, bit stupid to try fitting it against this flat chest of yours.”

“I like it,” Castiel said and put it in his rucksack. “Thank you very much.” Dean was still frowning at the idea of Castiel talking about bras when the last time he’d been confronted with an impending close encounter with female lingerie he’d seem pretty panicky. Castiel lifted his hand and the woman did the same before Castiel turned to leave and Dean was yet again left with no other choice but to follow obediently.

* * *

 

They continued down the not quite road, past more buildings of varying sizes. One of them was a bit bigger, with a tarmac yard and another simple grass field. Quite a few children were gathered there, playing, shouting.

“This Settlement is actually one of the few that managed to pull through and prosper. They do have a school, even though it’s still a bit rudimentary. They’re lacking material and qualified teachers. But it’s not as if there were any universities out in the Settlements they could attend… And nobody who’s been out goes back in…,”

“Out of where?” Dean wondered as they passed the children. Strange. They were cheerful, their laughter ringing in the stale air. Throughout the years he’d seen how people could remain clueless about all the shit happening around them and just carry on with their lives while Dean and Sam pretty much sacrificed everything to keep the world running. He’d always been equally angry and jealous about their ignorance. Castiel looked over his shoulder, just watching him. Dean raised his eyebrows inquiringly, waiting for an answer.

“The State.” Dean looked at him in confusion, hurrying up his pace so that he didn’t just walk behind Castiel but next to him.

“The state? The government you mean?” he asked, but Castiel kept his silence until they were in a part of the Settlement with more vegetation. There were a couple of trees, almost a small forest up ahead and he could also see a body of clear water. But it had a fence around it and another building close by that was connected to it with all manners of pipes.

“Look,” Castiel said and pointed towards the building and Dean saw that there were actually people with guns keeping watch. “The key to every successful Settlement is clean water and in a manner also untainted soil. Even if a body of water is clean, the survival of a Settlement isn’t guaranteed. Not all places are suitable. Whenever I find a patch of land that seems promising I plant a seed. If it grows and is not affected by the taint, then I guide people there to build Settlements,” Castiel explained and Dean listened with curiosity. “We call these places Dry Lands.”

“Sounds like from a stupid movie if you ask me,” Dean tried to joke, but jokes were usually lost on Castiel and even this version of him didn’t really feel like grinning. “Right. What about the rest then? What’s wrong with the world this time?” Castiel took a deep breath, sighing and shaking his head. He walked on and Dean had no other choice but to follow.

“It’s corruption,” Castiel replied quietly and Dean snorted. Not necessarily the most elaborate answer. It was always some kind of corruption eating away at the world; whether it was the Croatoan virus or Purgatory monsters or even an angel gone nuclear.

Dean looked away from Castiel’s face and saw that high walls made of concrete rose before them, not too far away. It appeared as if the walls circled or enclosed the Settlement and there were guards stationed next to the only entrance he could make out. There were no more concrete blocks here, no more houses, but he could see a two story building not too far off. It probably was that Office everyone kept on mentioning and Castiel was currently steering them in its direction.

“Dean.” Dean gave a start when he felt Castiel holding on to his arm and he turned around. He looked at him in wonder and Castiel let his hand drop, putting more distance between them.

“Yeah, Cas?” The use of the nickname seemed to cause Castiel to look down at his feet, but he did lift his eyes to glance up at Dean, before looking sideways again. “Oh come on!” Dean said, “just talk.”

“The corruption I mentioned…,” he started and when Dean only nodded at him he gained a bit more confidence and fully raised his head to look at Dean. “It’s control.”

“Control? You have to get a bit more specific,” Dean told him.

“Humans can live within the cities, Dean, and most still do. Only a very small part of the population manages to actually give up all they knew and move into the Outside. Nearly nobody inside the cities knows what the Outside really is.”

“What? I don’t quite get it. How can’t you know what’s outside of the city? It’s not like there’s a wall preventing you from going outside or just getting onto the internet to check.”

“It’s exactly that,” Castiel corrected him and Dean started at him. “There _are_ walls. And there’s no global internet anymore. No mobile network. Television broadcasts whatever the State wants it to see.” Dean shook his head incredulously, then he drew his hand through his hair.

“You can’t be serious. That can’t really happen, right? Why don’t people do anything?”

“As I said. Control,” Castiel told him calmly, but then he touched his fingers to Dean’s arm again and walked past him. Dean turned around unsurely, but he followed Castiel towards the building. If Castiel found it easier to talk when he could busy himself with walking, then fine. “Every part of your life is monitored and determined by the State. They do not know Free Will anymore, they only know the pursuit of fleeting happiness, a mindless happiness the State provides.” Castiel looked over his shoulder, a rueful but also meaningful expression on his face “This is Leviathan, Dean.” Dean stopped mid-step, his moccasin clad foot slamming down on the dry floor, rooting him to the spot. Castiel too stopped walking and turned his body around to look at Dean.

“Leviathan…?” Castiel nodded.

“It is total dominion over human life. You have to take a dangerous plunge if you want to get out of it, because there’s nothing out of the Compounds – the fortified cities - but what you’ve seen upon your arrival. Some settlements here and there. But they only exist because the Leviathan accept them, they tolerate them because they are not afraid of mere humans.” Castiel lifted his hand and rubbed his stubbly jaw, looking for the next words and Dean’s stomach turned a bit when he saw a dark, humorless grin form on Castiel’s lips. “And they don’t want their food to run out all too quickly.”

“Jesus Christ,” Dean hissed, balling his hands into fists. He turned up his head so that he didn’t have to look at the dusty ground or Castiel with his bitter expression _and it’s on him, on him. He’s let them out_. God, Dean didn’t want to think about it. But the sky overhead was just still like cigarette fumes, dirty yellow and cloudless and far too bright. Castiel’s voice filtered through a constant pounding of blood and static in Dean’s ears.

“We call this the Flood, Dean. They are everywhere, they cover the earth and once they are done humanity will be at the brink of extinction.” Dean lowered his head and stared Castiel square in the face. Dean had to give him some credit, he didn’t even flinch even though the expression Dean must have been showing him was certainly all manners of ugly and condemning.

“The Flood? Are we actually talking about that Biblical story?”

“It’s more of a metaphor. What you can read about in the Bible is trying to make sense of a natural phenomenon via divine prophecies. And stories about the Flood have been around for thousands of years.”

“And this is it? The real deal?” Dean demanded, his voice loud. He lifted his hands, pointing in the general direction of the gate. “So Sam and I work our ass off and he even jumps into the cage to prevent the Apocalypse just for the world to end in the Flood?! One angelic fuck-up following another?!” He looked up only briefly to see the hurt in Castiel’s eyes, but Castiel pressed his lips together and nodded. _He nodded_. Dean had to avert his eyes. “Shit, Cas…”

“You’re right… This is my fault…“ Dean looked at him and he wanted desperately to tell him something to get that devastated look off his face. It reminded him too much of the expression he wore just before he returned the souls to purgatory. But he hadn’t been able to say “it’s alright, we’ll fix it somehow” then and he couldn’t possibly say “I forgive you” now. It wasn’t his place to forgive unleashing what would later turn to start the Flood and the end of humanity. But… He had been the one to break the first seal and Castiel had never held that against him. Dean dug his nails into his palms, but then he reached out to place his hand on Castiel’s shoulder.

“Hey!” Dean looked up, startled and saw Castiel doing the same, moving further away from Dean. The woman of yesterday, whatever her name was, had walked out of the building, waving at them. “There you are! I thought you’d left without stopping by! Come on in!” Castiel sighed, but he turned around and waved at her. He threw a look at Dean, indecisive, but then he pressed his lips together and started walking to the building. Dean stood where he was and slipped his hands into the pockets of his trousers.

So this was it then? This small enclosed space of concrete, dry earth under his feet, chalky sky above him was the best humanity out of the Leviathan’s clutches could do?

“At least it’s not Camp Chitaqua,” he muttered to himself, but whether it was the Apocalypse or the Flood… The world was still slipping fast towards its end.

* * *

 

There were benches in front of the Office and people gathered there, talking, going over thin leaflets that probably went for a newspaper here and checked the many notices and pictures attached to a wooden board next to the entrance. Dean just lifted his chin and went inside, ignoring any of the doubtful or interested looks that were directed at him. The inside of the Office was silent against the babbling and chattering outside, with the occasional low murmurs that reached the hall. The building might have been two stories high, but the entrance hall reached right until the top and there was a hole in the ceiling where a window of stained glass had been built in. There was a bench to Dean’s left which had half a dozen small candles lit. It probably wasn’t too wrong to think of this place as some kind of church. Dean saw Castiel leaning against the wall opposite the entrance, looking at him. After Dean had noticed him, Castiel turned away from the wall and went through a door. In no hurry to follow Castiel, Dean looked around the room some more. The walls were all concrete again, not painted, but still not completely unadorned. The wall Castiel had leant against was covered by bulletin board next to bulletin board, empty apart from a few pieces of paper stacked to the far left. The walls also were mostly barren, but for the bold black letters written on them. Seemingly at random words – names Dean noticed – were written on the walls. Names of those that had come here? Names of those that had died? Dean wasn’t sure what it meant at all. He followed the wall, checking the names and some had dates under them in brackets. He reached the door and after hesitating a moment, he pushed it open and slipped inside. While the entrance room had been spacious and empty this one was cluttered. There were tables and chairs, and people bent over newspapers or pages. Some even had those old fashioned typing machines and he did spot a laptop or two, but they were switched off. Shelves lined the walls and there were numbered boxes stored there. A metallic ladder led upstairs and towards the back there was another door. Castiel was standing next to a round table in the middle of the room and Dean walked up to him. Before he could reach him, the silent guy with the gun from the night before was standing in his way. He didn’t have a gun today but his frown was discouraging enough.

“He’s the angel’s friend. Let him through,” the woman – Dorothy, Dean recalled at last – said, lifting her hand and waving the silent guy away. The silent guy shot Dean one last warning look, then he stepped to the side and resumed his place at one of the tables.

“Alpine has some troubles with their crop. It’s not been raining enough, but Ethan said they should still be fine. They’ve gotten another generator, solar this time.” Apparently they were in the middle of some kind of briefing when Dean reached the two of them. “They’re hoping to get the cold storage room running within the month.”

“That’s good…”

“Tumalo’s had some problems though… I think the soil is starting to show first signs of corruption… I’ve been there about a week ago and blessed the water, but I need to check back if it made a difference. They’ve resorted to use water from the rainwater tanks for now, but…,”

“Yeah,” Dorothy mumbled, a short moment of silence following. “Tumalo’s got about 300 people-“

“291,” Castiel interjected, but Dorothy just continued a bit louder:

“And we haven’t got the space… We can’t take them. You know that… If it fails, they’re on their own.”

“I understand,” Castiel replied softly and Dorothy sighed. Dean watched the exchange with mild curiosity, trying to figure out what exactly might be going on outside of this settlement.

“You’ve got everything? Relayed all the messages? Covered all the news?” Castiel nodded, then he looked over at Dean. Dorothy seemed to notice. “What? Do you need something else?”

“Shoes. Toothbrush. A bag,” Castiel listed and Dorothy nodded without saying anything. “Thank you.” When Dean walked towards the backdoor, Dean followed him. They got to another storage room where Castiel was already looking through a box until he found a toothbrush.

“Dude, not pink!” Dean complained and with a shrug Castiel tossed it back inside and picked out a green one instead.

“Just grab a pair of shoes,” Castiel commented, having moved on to inspect the bags that were stacked in a corner. Dean snorted, but he looked around the shelves and found various containers with shoes. He peered into the one with his size written on it and picked out a pair of sturdy boots. They were a bit dirty and Dean had no clue where all this stuff came from, but they were neither smelly nor in bad condition. With a bit of reluctance he got out of his moccasins and into the boots. When he had laced them up and checked that they actually fit, Castiel was already waiting for him, a leather bag in his arms. They left the room and Castiel picked up a stack of papers bound with a string on his way out, waving at Dorothy and the silent guy. It was strange how Castiel never seemed to shake hands with anybody, while Dorothy even offered Dean her hand in good-bye.

“Keep an eye on her. It must get lonely out there,” she said and while it probably was meant to be a whisper it sounded more like a warning hiss. He just stared at her in wonder and she held his hand, not letting him get anywhere without an answer.

“Who do- _oh_. Cas. Right. Yeah, sure,” Dean replied and with a last squeeze, Dorothy let go of him and Dean was allowed to join Castiel who waited in front of the Office. Castiel looked at him wordlessly and Dean wondered if he had heard what Dorothy had said. Dean just handed him back the shoes.

“Take your girly shoes,” he said and Castiel rolled his eyes at him, but put the pair into the leather bag with the toothbrush and handed it to Dean.

“Carry them for me,” he told him with a grin and Dean snorted. He thought about complaining some more to defend his pride, but who cared? He got to keep the shoes and he got to save his face. At least somewhat.

“What about the rest of my stuff? I certainly had more on me than the gun,” he wondered and Castiel nodded, closing his backpack.

“You’ll get them once we’re outside. I don’t want to cause a commotion. People don’t like to see other people waving around guns and knives.” Dean adjusted the bag over his shoulder and rubbed his hands.

“Okay, whatever. Now, where are we going?” Dean wondered and Castiel studied him for a while, before he turned his head towards the gate.

“Outside.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Part 2**

Leaving the long concrete wall of the Settlement behind, Dean had quite a bit of time to get used to the oppressive feeling and the growing stench of the hostile Outside.

Castiel guided him down a cracked tarmac road through dry, flat fields. Dean had no idea where they were and Castiel continued to insist that the Outside had no name. So Dean was looking at no-name lands, clusters of trees that had seen better days lining the no-name street towards no-name hills nothing more than ash colored smudges against the horizon. He saw a farmhouse on a street branching off from the one they were travelling on, but Dean doubted anybody lived there. It was quiet as they walked, eerily so, their boots (Dean’s boots mostly) on the beaten road the only sound.

“Do we even have a destination?” Dean wondered after what seemed like hours. His watch was no use, the time always wrong, but he didn’t manage to adjust it. The sky had not changed one bit, still looking toxic, but the milky white disk of what could have been the sun might have moved. Dean had no way of knowing though and his only source of information was insistent on keeping quiet. Dean huffed, but it wasn’t only irritation; he was hot, his heart seemed to beat too fast and he was short of breath. Castiel gave a start, a delayed reaction to Dean speaking, and stopped to turn and look over his shoulder, blinking owlishly. Almost as if he’d forgotten Dean was there, even though Dean’s footfalls had been a companion to Castiel’s for God knows how long. Maybe he really had, mind flown off to some place Dean had never been able to follow. Castiel turned all the way around, facing Dean who was now hanging his head, wiping his sweat-glistening forehead.

“Do you want water?” Castiel asked with a hint of concern in his voice. When Dean looked up Castiel reached behind himself to grab at a flask hanging from his backpack. As he turned his face towards Dean again he wore a guilty expression. “Sorry. I should have asked earlier… I don’t need any for myself and forgot,” he explained and handed the flask to Dean. The hunter snorted but took the offered water, only now realizing how dry his throat actually was. The water was blessedly cool and refreshing.

“I feel like I’ve been hiking all day,” Dean complained and handed the flask back to Castiel. “I shouldn’t feel so exhausted.” He threw a short glance over his shoulder, the high walls of the settlement long out of view. Castiel put the flask away and looked at the sky. Dean wondered if he could somehow read it or sense things that Dean couldn’t.

“That’s because the Outside is hostile to humans not accustomed to it. Most people outside of the cities have had months to adjust…,” Castiel explained, “you collapsed almost straight away when I tried to walk with you before.” Dean rolled his eyes at Castiel who only shrugged, uncaring about Dean’s displeasure with being reminded of fainting. “You just don’t have any resistance to it. And we’re still very close to Dry Lands…” Dean tapped his foot impatiently, looking at the sun bleached landscaped that hadn’t changed much since they’d left the settlement.

“So that means once we move on I’m just gonna fall over again?” he demanded to know. Castiel seemed indecisive. “Where exactly are we heading anyway?”

“I think we should go somewhere safe to start figuring out why you’re here… We’ll have to move a bit further away…,” Castiel told him and looked around until he fixed his eyes on something in the distance off the road. It seemed to be the outskirts of a forest behind fields with high grass.

“And then what? Do we have to walk all across America now? It’ll take us months to get anywhere!” Dean protested, not really feeling like walking at all. He wasn’t usually this whiny, especially not in the company of other dudes (or whatever Cas qualified as), but he did in fact not trust his body to work properly under these conditions. Castiel shook his head, readjusting his backpack before he jerked his head towards the woods.

“I will fly,” he said and Dean raised an eyebrow at him. “It’s different than before… But you’ll see… Come. We need to make progress before nightfall.” He stepped off the street and walked into the field, the grass soon reaching up to his knees, then his hips until they were up to his shoulders.

“Wh- hey! Wait!” Dean shouted, feeling really reluctant to leave the street. At least the street seemed easy enough to handle, but who knew what there was in the fields. “Dammit!” He rushed after Castiel, the grass hard and dry around him.

“Keep your hands in your pockets,” Castiel told him when Dean had caught up, walking in the path Castiel had made. “Some blades of grass are sharp.” Dean frowned, but he was past the point where arguing and being stubborn seemed the best course of action.

“Why can’t you just zap us to your safe place now?” Dean asked and almost missed a step when his feet dug into suddenly wet earth. He frowned and stared at the dark earth visible between the thick growing grass before he looked up again, over Castiel’s head, where the forest was getting closer with its smell of mold, decay and rotting vegetation. He wrinkled his nose in unabashed distaste. “Do we really need to go in there?”

“Not far, Dean,” Castiel said, his tone placating. “And I made it a point not to fly close to Dry Lands if I can help it. My flight and aim isn’t as good as it used to be.” He looked over his shoulder, a grin on his lips. “Especially when carrying cargo.” Dean thought that Castiel wasn’t entirely honest with him, but the little quip about him being cargo was distracting enough to let it go. Dean snorted something incomprehensible in Castiel’s direction.  “Overweight luggage, even,” Castiel added and they reached the tree line.

“Very charming, Cas,” Dean said, but he had to grin.

“I am carrying all of your belongings too, I believe this is called gentlemanly behavior. So allow me to balance that by making a comment on your weight,” Castiel said and brushed his hand against the closest bark of the tree. On a strange impulse Dean did the same when he passed it, finding the bark rough and hard, nothing unexpected. Some of the bark crumbled under his touch and stuck to his sweaty palm.

“You’ve never been particularly funny, Cas,” Dean reminded him, listening to the sounds of snapping twigs and rustling ferns as they were making their way deeper into the forest. The bright light soon dimmed as the trees grew thicker, but it was not getting any cooler, if anything it was getting damper, the dry air becoming moist with the scent of dirty water and decaying plants. “And you could have given me back my stuff. Like you said you would. Don’t go all drama-queen on me now.” Dean had no intention of putting any venom into his words, but they didn’t come out light-hearted either. Damn it, it was getting harder to move again, his body sluggish. The ground was quite wet even though Castiel was careful to find them a path where the floor was hard enough not to just give way under their feet. Dean still almost lost his footing once and just managed to grab a tree to save him from landing face first in the mud. The bark of this tree was smooth and wet, almost slimy with some kind of moss growing upwards. Fluid oozed over his fingers and before Dean could make any sounds of disgust Castiel was there, tearing his hands away from the bark. Dean felt a slow itching that swiftly turned to a burn and small red spots were popping up all over his palms. Castiel wordlessly tugged at Dean’s wrists and folded the corner of his jacket around it without taking it off. He wiped as much of the slime away, grabbed the flask again and poured water over Dean’s hands. Dean hissed because it burnt even more, but Castiel didn’t let him get away, fixing Dean’s outstretched arms between his hip and his free arm going around them.

“What the hell is wrong with this place?! Everything is toxic!” Dean hissed when Castiel had emptied all of the water over Dean’s palms.

“I’m sorry,” Castiel said quietly, “I should have told you not to touch the trees. We’re too far from the Dry Lands now.” Dean suppressed a pained moan, but tore his gaze away from his reddening hands to their surroundings. Castiel muttered something along the lines of Dean being a brat for wanting to touch everything which Dean graciously ignored. The ground was completely overgrown with ferns and bushes with little yellow berries and there were small ponds here and there, growing in numbers the further Dean looked until he could spy some kind of lake not too far off. The trees were all straight with smooth barks and either covered with slimy moss or some other kind of ivy with bright red flowers. The foliage overhead was thick and didn’t let much sun through. Some kind of thin lianas connected the trees, adding to the almost jungle like feeling of the forest. “Can you move a bit more?” Dean turned his head to study Castiel, who now held on to his wrists again, pressing his thumbs where his blood pulsed too fast under his skin. “I need a bit of open space…”

“There was plenty of open space where we came from,” Dean hissed, the accusation of all of this making close to no sense hung in his tone. Castiel lowered his head, but didn’t break eye contact.

“I needed you to at least get a little bit accustomed to the Outside, Dean. Whatever help we need to find to send you back, we likely won’t do so while sitting around in Dry Lands.”

“I’m sure there would have been a better approach,” Dean argued, but then he withdrew his hands, rubbing them on his thighs before nodding at Castiel. “Come on, move! Before I throw up over your shoes.” Castiel seemed genuinely worried that this was more than just a possibility and he turned around quickly, leading Dean down a seemingly random path, often changing direction. The stench of the water and the plants around him was constantly growing and when Dean thought he couldn’t handle any more, he stumbled through some bushes, thorns scratching at his jacket and jeans before he suddenly found himself at some kind of clearing. The grass was still high but at least there were no trees. Castiel kept looking at him expectantly and Dean suppressed the ache in his feet and hands and the general nausea he felt and walked over to him.

“Ready for angel air then?” Dean snorted, too tired for any attempt at humor. Castiel just nodded and he pulled off his backpack, rolling his shoulders.

“Can you carry the rucksack?” Castiel asked and Dean walked over to where Castiel stood. The scent of olive oil and sea water seemed stronger now. Confused as he was, he still took the backpack, finding it heavier than he had imagined. “It might be a bit uncomfortable…” Dean wanted to argue, but his words died in his throat when Castiel stepped around him, warm chest pressed to his back and his thin but strong arm circling his stomach. For a moment the scent around Castiel was overwhelming – like oil and syrup mixed up, salty and sweet at the same time, but also with a bitter undercurrent – but then Castiel’s breath hit Dean’s neck. “Draw in your knees a bit and don’t trash around.”

“Uhm…” The situation was far too strange already and it was a bit difficult to bend his knees without sinking to the ground with how Castiel leant against his body. “What exactly-“

“And keep your mouth shut.”

Castiel tensed and then suddenly he kicked off and Dean lost the floor under his feet. He did try to struggle, but Castiel’s arms were firm around his middle and once he realized he was not slipping out of his grasp and falling to his death he relaxed as well as he could. Wind hit Dean’s face and he only got swift glimpses of tree tops, long roads, mountains or cities. What Jimmy had said all those years ago suddenly seemed to make sense to Dean: it kinda was how being chained to a comet might feel like and he was just flying angel air. He turned his head to the side, trying to get away from the cold wind making his eyes water and turning even breathing into a bit of a hassle.

“Brace yourself. We’re about to land; keep your feet off the ground.” Castiel said from above him and funny how Dean hadn’t even realized that they’d switched to an almost horizontal position. With the wind blowing around his ears it was difficult to hear what Castiel said, but he drew up his feet uncomfortably and suddenly they almost dropped to the floor. Dean gasped, his stomach lurching dangerously and he heard the sound of beating wings and leaves being stirred. Then they landed heavily and Castiel almost fell over him because Dean had tried to put his feet to the ground before Castiel had properly regained his footing. Dean tried to counter the forwards push, planting his feet firmly into the soil and even though it felt like Castiel had suddenly become as eager a hugger as a Cupid, the angel seemed to lift most of his weight back off of Dean. Castiel’s arms remained in their tight hold, his forehead resting against Dean’s neck, his labored breathing puffs of air on sweaty skin.

Castiel’s hands were digging into Dean’s stomach and painfully reminded Dean of how sick he actually felt at the moment.

“Uh… Cas… If you don’t get up I’m really going to throw up,” he warned and Castiel pressed his forehead against Dean’s neck with slightly more force, but then he let go, his hands, weight, warmth and scent leaving Dean. The hunter let the backpack drop to the floor and bent over, itching hands heavy on his thighs. With his eyes squeezed shut he tried to control his breathing and force down the sour taste in his mouth. Beyond his gasps he could hear the sound of wings flapping urgently and a light wind touched him. It was dry and warm, but at least it was soothing against his sweat-soaked back. Castiel walked around him, the strong scent gone, but the oil and sea water aroma still lingered in Dean’s nose. He heard the backpack being picked up and finally trusted his rebellious stomach enough to straighten and look around.

Castiel’s expression was worried, but he was standing at quite a distance from him again as if he didn’t dare to come closer. Dean avoided looking at him for too long, because his shoulders were littered with dark spots and his nose was running again, a trail of black snot-like blood running from his nostril over his lips and stopping in the middle of his chin.

“I’m fine,” Dean groaned at the unvoiced question and waved his hand in Castiel’s general direction, “just wipe that snot off your face, it’s making me want to break your nose.” He didn’t see Castiel’s reaction, but he assumed he did as he was told. He looked around the clearing they were in. It was relatively small, with dark trees forming a compact circle around them. The foliage was a deep wine-red color, arching a bit over them before they opened up to a sky that looked more like ash than yellow. The ground itself seemed soft under Dean’s feet, with lots of moss between the grass and pale flowers.

“Are we in, what did you call it? Dry Lands?” Dean wondered and finally turned his eyes back to Castiel. He was shouldering the backpack all the while he studied the grey sky.

“To some extent…,” was all Dean could get out of Castiel before he fell back into a tense silence.

“Okay,” Dean snorted, looking around. “So more hiking or do you plan on camping?”

“No…,” Castiel huffed at the suggestion, “you don’t camp outside of secured places, Dean.” Dean rolled his eyes at that.

“What happened to ‘there’s nothing to hunt’ then?” Dean knew he was provoking now, but he still believed he was due some answers.

“I’m not talking about monsters, Dean… I’m talking about the corruption… These parts are mostly safe, but you do react more violently to contact with infected vegetation and water than the… natives of this time do.” He approached Dean but passed him and headed for the line of trees. “Come. Night falls fast.” Dean watched Castiel disappear between the trees and for a moment he thought about just staying where he was. Then again, he’d probably pay a high price for his childish stubbornness. He was somewhere he didn’t know and he didn’t want to risk dying out here because of some stupid “corruption” before even getting a clue why he was stuck here.

* * *

 

The forest beyond the clearing was different to the ones he’d been in. The trees grew closely, their barks smooth and dark, the branches starting low with more wine colored leaves but reaching up quite high into an unstirred canopy of deep red colors. The ground was cushioned by leaves and moss; the few bushes he saw were low, sticking close to the ground with burgundy round leaves and little, dark purple berries. Castiel moved swiftly, taking a clear trail through the forest that Dean had trouble following. It was getting dimmer around them, what he could spot of the ash grey sky overhead turning darker and darker and finally the temperatures seemed to drop too.

“How far?” Dean wondered, breaking the silence and Castiel did stop and turn around, allowing Dean a moment to catch his breath. His entire body ached, but not as bad as his ankles or his hands. His throat was scratchy, he was thirsty and his stomach had given up growling for food long ago. Also his bladder would probably kill him if he didn’t get the chance to relieve it right about _now_.

“We’ll be there soon,” Castiel said, studying him intently, not missing how Dean restlessly shifted around. “I’ll wait here and see if I have something for you to eat and drink…,” he said and Dean breathed a sigh of relief. “But don’t stray, don’t eat anything and don’t drink anything. In the unlikely event that you encounter something that strikes you as odd, call.” Castiel’s voice was both stern but also concerned and Dean rolled his eyes at him.

“Yes, Mom.” Castiel tensed visibly at that, his face blank apart from the crease between his brows, but then he shook his head and waved him off. Dean didn’t need to be told twice, so he turned around and wandered deeper into the forest, careful to keep a straight line so he’d find his way back. He wasn’t worried to get lost, at least not here where it was far easier to breathe than it had been in the Outside. He wondered how many state lines they’d crossed in the short seconds of their flight. Or had it really been seconds? Maybe it had taken hours and they were on the other side of the globe.

Not one to dwell too much on things that were not of immediate import (or danger) Dean wandered on, his steps softened by the moss. There wasn’t any wind here either and he couldn’t hear any noise apart from his own. He could see nothing but the same scenery of grass, trees and bushes wherever he looked, so he gave up on trying to explore and did what he came to do. He wasn’t overly self-conscious and he could stand his brother watching him take a leak with no problem at all, but Cas was something else. Cas was, at least somewhere in there, a supernatural being that had suddenly learnt the basic concepts of personal space but still didn’t think there was anything wrong with watching his naked (or almost naked) body with unsettling intensity. And, his mind unhelpfully supplied, Castiel was a girl at times. And while girls might go to the toilet together, guys and girls usually kept the experience to themselves. He thought.

The whole issue with Castiel being not quite fixed to the long familiar body he’d come to see as Castiel was still a major source of confusion for Dean and he’d tried his best not to think too much about it on his way back to where he’d started off.

Castiel was kneeling on the floor, back turned to Dean, giving him an unsettling view of the black splatters that now stained the back of his moss green jacket.

“Are your wings bleeding black goo?” Dean asked because no matter what, this was the only way he could come up with to bring it up. Not very tactful, but then again he wasn’t Sam. Castiel tensed, but after a second of hesitation he bit his lips, looking up at Dean.

“That’s not it… They’re just…” Castiel was fighting to find the right word, but in the end he sighed and settled on a low “dirty.” Dean looked at him indecisively, unsure on what to do with this piece of information. Castiel opened the floor for a change of topic by pulling a metallic box out of his backpack. He tossed Dean a flask which he caught and inspected. It had a cross on the front.

“Holy water?”

“I blessed the water you drank before too. Just drink,” Castiel said, unwrapping the fabric around whatever had been in the box. Dean drank the water, finding the sensation of it going down his dry throat more than pleasant, and continued studying the careful unwrapping Castiel did.

“I got this when I visited Alpine,” he said and opened his hands, palms outstretched as if proudly presenting the food balancing on his knees. Dean walked over to him, sitting down. “Just bread, a couple of boiled eggs and carrots. I will have a proper meal ready for you later.” Dean shrugged and took the offered bread, watching Castiel carefully peel the eggs and handing them to him one after the other.

“What about you? Eat nothing but burgers?” Dean asked, taking a loud bite off the carrot. It was more like food for Sam, but right now he didn’t feel like protesting. He was too hungry. Castiel snorted at that, folding his arms over his knees, studying Dean chewing with his usual intensity.

“I don’t eat this,” he said calmly and then fell into silence. Dean lifted his eyebrows but Castiel’s expression was neutral, untroubled. Dean swallowed and thought about it for a second, but now was the opportunity to ask, so he had to. It almost seemed as if Castiel’s silence was inviting him to.

“So what do you eat then? What do you _feed_ on?”

“I’m a carnivore,” Castiel said and opened his mouth enough to show Dean white, even teeth. Human teeth he dragged a pink tongue over almost flirtingly. Not that Castiel knew how to flirt, so he might be teasing him because Dean almost expected rows of ugly Leviathan teeth to show. “I’m mostly sated, but from time to time I overexert myself… Sometimes I eat a rabbit, other times I need to go for something bigger. I once ate a cow and was still hungry enough to go after another.” Dean cringed at that, his mouth open and some half-chewed bread dropping out of his mouth and into his lap.

“Raw?”

“Raw, but don’t fool yourself… I actually hunt them, then I skin them and cut out the things humans usually deem edible enough to go on your plate. At times I also cook it, but it’s not as nourishing…” Dean had lost about all the appetite he had, but not his hunger, so he finished his bread in silence. Castiel studied him, his lips no longer a small twisted grin, but a thoughtful line.

“You do think I’m a monster more than ever, do you?” Castiel wondered, but Dean got up swiftly, shaking the crumbs off his shirt.

“How about we cut that particular discussion off right now?” he suggested harshly and Castiel folded the towel neatly and put it back into its metallic box, but his eyes never left Dean’s. “It’s not going anywhere good. Believe me.”

“Of course it’s not. Nothing between us is _good_ , Dean. But I’m making an attempt.” Castiel closed his backpack and got to his feet, shouldering the heavy baggage with ease.

“Then turn your attempts elsewhere,” Dean hissed, colder than he actually intended. Castiel’s expression when he walked up to Dean was hard and disappointed. It chilled Dean to the bone with how humbling it felt to be at the receiving end of it. This was not his fault! Not this time! It hadn’t been him who’d made the mad decision, it had been Cas to forgo his warnings and do whatever he pleased. “Just what do you want me to say? Fight it out with future me!” Castiel snorted and passed Dean, avoiding the gesticulating arms. “What? I certainly didn’t come here to talk about my feelings with you!”

“Of course not,” Castiel growled, but it was low, too wounded to sound angry. Startled into silence and missing the moment to formulate a reply, Dean stomped after Castiel. It was getting even darker and the vibrant red and green colors faded into hues of bluish grey. Dean did see better in the dark than most people, but it didn’t make hurrying after Castiel, zigzagging through the trees, more comfortable.

“Shit, Cas! Slow down, will you?!” Castiel pretended not to hear for another minute, Dean stumbling after him muttering low curses, and then he did stop, an unmoving statue among the trees. Dean caught up with him, his breathing loud in the silence of the falling night. Castiel had been right, night had really fallen exceedingly fast; it had been dusk not too long ago and now there was almost no light reaching the floor of the forest. Dean looked upwards but saw nothing at all through the foliage above him. The trees weren’t growing as densely as they did before, but their branches extended far and seemed to grow together with the other trees. The ground was mostly mossy grass now. There was a new sweetness in the air that came neither from Castiel nor from overripe fruit. It was quite flowery. At least it was better than the stench. He looked away from their surroundings and focused an unsure frown on Castiel. The angel stood with his shoulders slightly hunched, hands in the pockets of his dirty jacket, his mouth a tight line of displeasure. “Okay. You let off steam now?” Castiel didn’t grace Dean’s question with an answer, but turned his head away from him, looking in the distance, with that scowl still in place.

“Cas, come on,” Dean hissed even though he wasn’t sure what he wanted Castiel to say or do. The silence was disconcerting; absolute quiet was nothing that Dean associated with a forest in the night time. There were no leaves stirred, no animals calling, no wind, no water. Nothing but Dean’s breathing and-

_Dean! Damn! It… days… you… hear…_

Dean inhaled sharply, holding his forehead. There had always been something like a constant hissing in his ear, like a headache made up of sounds instead of pain and in the silence between him and Castiel it suddenly was louder.

“Dean?” it was Castiel now, face turned towards him and worried.

_Dean! Can you hear me?!_

“Shit, there’s…” Dean moaned, pressing his hands against his eyes as his head started to throb with pain and his stomach twisted, “shit!” Castiel was up in his personal space in no time and then there was the familiar pressure of two fingers against Dean’s forehead. He managed to open his eyes for just long enough to see reality blurring, but then soothing voices whispered in Dean’s head, overriding the pounding of _Dean Dean Dean_.

He let out a shuddering breath, half surprised that Castiel hadn’t just caused him to fall unconscious.  His head felt lighter now and he rubbed the back of his hand over his forehead, to find it coated in sweat.

“Are you alright?” Dean couldn’t see much of his surroundings because it was dark, but he could still see Castiel standing against what he guessed to be the foot of a bed, carrying a basin in his hands. Dean opened his mouth, but then he gave a start. He was lying on a bed! Hadn’t he been standing in the woods not a second ago? Dean lifted himself up on his elbows, almost sinking into the soft covers of the bed. A soft bed, awesome.

“Yeah… I guess so,” he finally answered and Castiel moved, stepping around the bed to put the basin on the night table. “What happened?”

“I am not entirely sure. For a moment I feared you suffered from corruption, but apart from the rash on your hands and on your ankles you seem to be fine. Almost surprisingly so…,” Castiel said, his voice barely above a whisper and Dean strained to hear him. The room was too dark to see much but there was some light coming from the door that Castiel had left ajar. He could see that the room was rather small, the ceiling seemed to be low, with wooden beams stretching from the door towards the wall where the bed was. Despite the shadows he could also make out furniture, but Castiel cut his examination of the room short by pressing a washcloth against Dean’s forehead. The water was warm and the swiping motions Castiel did gentle. Dean let him do it after initial uneasy squirming, finding it oddly comforting.

“Dude… You really like to mother me, don’t you?” Dean snorted and Castiel’s facial expression was lost to the shadows.

“When I get the opportunity. You’re not exactly receptive most of the time,” he replied, then he took the cloth away and Dean snorted, reaching up to wipe his face. “You tolerate or even demand healing, but you don’t like it applied with human care.” Dean sat up properly now, swinging his feet over the edge of the bed, almost hitting Castiel’s hips in the process.

“Yeah, as if you were really that concerned about pampering me,” he argued and did catch Castiel’s disapproving expression this time. It might have been a bit discouraging, but he was feeling embarrassed now after having allowed this… intimacy to happen. That was not the Winchester way. They got hurt, they’d get alcohol, they’d bite their teeth and they’d pull through without complaining. No hand-holding, no words of comfort, no gentle patting, no it’s going to be alright kisses. Just stop crying, don’t be such a girl, get over it, it’s just a broken arm.

Dean drew his hands through his hair, sighing deeply with a sudden surge of dark, nameless emotion burning inside of him.

“You’re right…” Castiel replied and straightened, his arms hanging from his sides, fingers twitching. “I have demanded too much of you. And I have burdened you greatly. But I did try to keep you from further harm…” Taken aback and no less confused, Dean looked up at Castiel, whose eyes were focused on him with intense openness and honesty. “You’ve never been able to appreciate my efforts…” Castiel’s expression changed then, the calm cracking and eyes narrowing, his eyebrows drawn up in what could be worry or an attempt to conceal pain.

“What…?” Dean wondered, getting up from the bed, but Castiel put a hand on his shoulder, silencing him.

“I prepared a bath for you… It should ease the pain from the infection.” Dean frowned, but Castiel went to the door. Dean followed him into what was a narrow corridor, only dimly lit, and towards another door, very small and narrow so that Sam would probably have to squeeze through. “Everything you need is inside…” He pushed the door open, “and mind your step.” Dean frowned but then he almost fell down a small flight of stairs as he stepped over the threshold. Dean bit back a curse, hand balled around a fist-full of Castiel’s shirt, but the guy had had the grace to hold on to the door frame and didn’t seem troubled at all. Feeling a bit of embarrassment Dean let go of the shirt and slammed the door shut in his face before he had to see Castiel smirking at him.

* * *

 

The bath was a small, dimly lit room that smelled of earth and herbs. The few steps led down to a cool floor with smooth stone tiles. The ceiling was narrow and uneven, just like the walls. There were flickering candles sitting on shelves carved into the walls and along the back of the bathtub. That was actually all the room seemed to hold; the bathtub was rather big, let into the floor itself with wooden boards put around the rim of the tub. The water was steaming and inviting. Dean got out of his clothes, tossing them on a low bench holding towels and another set of clothes as well as Castiel’s moccasins. He tested the temperature of the water, finding it just right and slipped in. A groan of bliss escaped his lips as he sat down in the wooden structure, water reaching his collar bones.

“Cas, son of a bitch, you should have brought me here first thing,” he said into the silence of the room. He doubted Castiel could hear him, but it was not important. Dean felt like the dim light, the candles, the warmth of the scented water and the rich aroma of wood and earth around him could lull him to sleep. He allowed himself to relax, because no matter if the world ended in a Leviathan induced flood, there were still these little things to enjoy. Dean tilted his head upwards, resting it against the boards and looked towards the ceiling. It almost looked like roots and something was etched into the wood that glimmered in the light of the flames. Sigils maybe.

Dean wondered if this was the safe place Castiel had talked about. So was he in another settlement? It certainly didn’t feel the same. It was more… cozy, personal. Maybe Cas’ place then? For some reason, the notion of Castiel having his own place didn’t sit all too well with Dean. Castiel, supernatural squeezed into the shape of a human body, had no right to own anything. Least of all a home. Dean pulled his hand out of the water, wiping over his face and sighing deeply. What the hell was he thinking… Everybody deserved a home, even though Dean could barely remember having had one.  
As much as he wanted to spend the rest of his life soaking in the warm water, he did have to get out eventually and face the world and its monsters. There was a plug in the tub he wiggled his toes against until it came loose and as the water slowly revealed more of his wet torso to the steamy air inside the bathroom, he finally got up and out of the tub. While he got dressed in sweatpants and t-shirt he listened to the water gurgling down the drain and any noises that might reach the bathroom from outside. He thought he could hear the faint sounds that he usually associated with the kitchen, but he couldn’t be sure. He blew out the candles, leaving himself in the dark and fumbling for the stairs and door.

Once out of the bathroom with steam accompanying him both the agreeable cooler temperature of the house and the rich smell of something cooking greeted him.

“Dean?” He heard Castiel from somewhere else and followed the noise down the narrow corridor until he reached a sort of circular room. It was dark here too, but judging by the couch, table and shelves all stacked with books, loose papers and random items it must be the living room. The floor was made of wood here and there was something on the ceiling that sparkled when it caught the light from across the room.

He decided to forgo further exploration and followed the scent – meat? Soup? – to an arch in the opposite wall, finding himself in a small kitchen area. Castiel was bent over a pot, stirring it with a wooden spoon. The pot stood on a metallic grill that was placed inside a brick stone fire place alight with a fire. Castiel had slipped out of his dirty clothes, now wearing faded moss green pants with a couple of tears (some mended, most not) and a grey shirt that might have been blue many washing cycles ago. “It should be ready,” Castiel said.

Dean blinked a few times, then he looked around and found a plate on a rough wooden worktop next to him. He grabbed it and held it out towards Castiel’s back.

“Uh. Here…,” he offered and the other man turned around, looking at Dean, then at the plate. He almost had to rip it out of Dean’s suddenly tense fingers. Castiel wore exactly the same things Cas of the other 2014 had worn. His hair might be wilder and clean, his face almost free of stubble and his eyes open and clear, but all of the rest…

“Are you alright?” Castiel wondered, still holding the plate between them, eyes unblinking. Dean stared as well, but then he shook his head, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Uh… Yeah. Yeah sure,” he said and Castiel slowly turned around, filling the plate with what seemed to be some minestrone like soup. His movements were graceful and efficient, just as Dean knew them to be, but still. This face, these clothes and Dean saw his memories of a grin projected on Castiel’s lips. “So… Ugh… Just… One question.” When Dean dared to look at Castiel, he had tilted his head to the side, plate in both hands. “You haven’t celebrated any orgies lately, have you?”

“Orgies…?” Castiel repeated, lowering his eyebrows in confusion. “What-“

“Or… I don’t know… Smoked some weed?” Castiel’s confusion only deepened, but before Dean could ask more Castiel handed him the plate. It was surprisingly hot and the only reason Dean didn’t drop it was because Castiel had placed a towel on the underside of the plate.

“I don’t understand what you mean to ask me.” Castiel turned back to the brick construction and Dean noticed that there was something like an oven too. When Castiel opened the metallic latch Dean’s eyes caught sight of what appeared to be and certainly smelled like pie. Castiel walked out of the miniscule kitchen, almost making Dean spill the soup over the front of his shirt as he squeezed past and back into the living room. By the time Dean joined him, Castiel was sitting on the low couch, in between a pile of what appeared to be a patchwork quilt and half a dozen cushions. It was lighter now and Dean saw a faintly glowing lamp standing on top a small wooden table next to the couch. There still wasn’t much to be seen of the room but the immediate surroundings of the couch and the walls of the living room were cast into deep shadows. Castiel raised his eyebrows at him and Dean hesitated before he joined him on the couch. There wasn’t much space even when Castiel had pulled the quilt away but Dean at least tried to pretend that he was at ease, propping his moccasin clad feet on top of a stool that stood in front of the couch.

“Uh, sorry about the odd questions… I was just making sure that you’re not the same as the Cas I saw in the other 2014,” Dean finally mumbled, taking the spoon Castiel offered him. The soup was maybe a bit lacking in flavor, but it was hot and still tasty enough. And Dean was hungry.

“I doubt I’d ever find pleasure in deviant sexuality,” Castiel said with a snort and Dean huffed, raising his eyebrows.

“Me too, but yeah. You were quite a shocker. Still are I mean…” Castiel frowned and Dean ate his soup in silence before he deemed it fine to speak up again. “You were a human then and you were totally into decadence, man. Alcohol, women, drugs…” Dean shook his head. “I have no clue how that other me managed to watch you fall apart like that…” There must have been so much shit going on with Lucifer wearing Sam and the spread of Croatoan (not that Dean’s own timeline was going towards anything good). Still, Dean found the idea that he’d just let a human Castiel destroy himself painful to consider, but not impossible to understand. The single-minded pursuit of one goal didn’t allow being considerate of other people’s problems, even if it was Cas. Maybe especially if it was Cas.

“It’s not your responsibility to look out for me, Dean,” Castiel said and if he was as disturbed by Dean’s account as Dean himself, then he didn’t show it. He only seemed to be thoughtful.

Dean tried to focus all of his attention on the task at hand, eating the soup diligently because his mother’s words (eat up, you’ll get better darling) echoed in his ears unbidden, like ghosts. It wasn’t even the right soup and anything Mary had prepared for him had been far better than this flavored water with bits of meat and pasta in it, but the reason it was made was the same. Castiel was trying to take care of him, he was trying to make him better and Dean still was grateful enough to at least silently appreciate it.

He was aware how Castiel studied him with his usual angelic intensity that almost made Dean believe that he was supposed to have mental conversations with him. But even thinking was kind of an arduous task if you weren’t sure that your conversational partner couldn’t actually read whatever flitted over your mind. Maybe Castiel just wanted to hear something out of his mouth other than the clank of the metallic spoon against his teeth.

“Uh… Thanks for the food. I didn’t know you cooked.” It was basically the most stupid thing he could come up with other than “stop staring at me, creep” or “do I want to know what I’m eating”. Castiel didn’t falter in his staring, but after a while the careful look in his eyes softened and while he didn’t look pleased (why would he, Dean wasn’t about to compliment the food) he at least seemed less on edge.

“You’re welcome,” he said and it was as sincere and heart-felt as ever. Castiel did lower his eyes now and because he started picking at the nearest cushion Dean was struck with the notion that he was actually witnessing something like shyness. Or embarrassment, he couldn’t quite tell them apart on Castiel yet. But both were relatively new, even though Dean had seen his childlike, abashed look before. It was something that might have been vaguely endearing, but you don’t think endearing when an angel admitted to _overreaching_. Not with blood still on his coat and Sam off enjoying angel enabled Satan-vision.

“Dean?” Dean snapped out of his thoughts and realized that Castiel looked at him with concern. The hunter blinked a few times, rubbing the back of his hand over his face and turned back towards Castiel. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah, peachy. Sorry. You were saying?” Castiel didn’t seem convinced judged by how he narrowed his eyes, but he let it go for the moment.

“I said that I’m in the process of learning. I need to know as much as possible so I can help out…,” he said and Dean raised an eyebrow. His soup was almost gone and the last spoonful was tepid at best. Castiel seemed to notice, because he got up immediately and pulled the plate out of Dean’s almost unresisting hands. Dean pulled up his legs, letting Castiel pass and watched him walk into the small kitchen. He didn’t see what he was doing, but Castiel was back with a glass and another plate. He handed them both to Dean with a small smile before he climbed over Dean’s legs to resume his spot at his side. Water and a plate with what seemed to be strangely colored mashed potatoes and some meat.

“I had some left-overs,” Castiel said as if that was all the encouragement Dean needed to eat. Well, the meat looked okay enough, thin but still slightly rare when Dean cut it apart. Dean wasn’t all that fond of Castiel’s expectant eyes on him, but he silently tasted both things and washed it down with cool water.

“It’s good,” he said and it wasn’t even a lie. Sure, he’d had better food before and it still lacked distinct flavor or any seasoning to be honest, but it was good in its simplicity. When he dared to check for Castiel’s reaction he caught him smiling.

“Thank you…” Dean put some more food in his mouth because if given the choice between eating and seeing Castiel smile at him, chewing seemed the better option. He wasn’t quite sure why it unsettled him this much. Castiel was not supposed to be smiling at him! Of course, Dean had no idea what Castiel was supposed to do, but these short scenes of domesticity seemed ridiculous. Out of place, unreal, mocking. Whatever.

“Why did you pick up cooking anyway if you don’t really need to eat?” Dean asked, putting the empty plate on the floor next to him. He felt more than saw Castiel shrug and when he looked over he was in the process of pulling up his feet and tugging them under his legs. He seemed comfortable and at ease in a way Cas had never been. Well, hippie Cas of the other 2014 seemed pretty laid-back, but he had still been a soldier if you peeled off the sticky layers of orgies and drug addiction. It was not something you just put to rest, Dean knew that, you were always alert, always tense. But here was Cas, propped against a thousand pillows and his head leant back against the top of the couch’s backrest. So… human.

“The humans outside of the city don’t need an angel, Dean. They need me to be as similar to them as possible without actually being a burden…” Dean frowned at that, unsure what to make of this confession. Castiel must have seen his not quite understanding on Dean’s face, because he continued: “Humanity is failing.” Yeah, right. As if that explained anything. Maybe Dean should have been more surprised to hear the last statement in connection to Castiel’s previous one, or maybe just surprised at all, but he honestly wasn’t. Not anymore. You knew that something was seriously wrong with you when the impending end of humanity no longer stirred a more violent reaction out of you than a depreciating grunt.

“When isn’t it,” the hunter snorted in reply but as soon as his words had left his lips he saw the change in Castiel’s posture; he lifted his head off the couch and straightened up. The look he sent him was clear and piercing, but completely unreadable to Dean. Dean wasn’t sure whether he should feel relieved about Castiel snapping out of this display of being comfortable around him or appalled that he’d messed something up without even meaning to. But Cas had no right to look cozy, he had no right to be at ease in a world that was failing, in a world that drowned in a monstrous flood that the delusional angel himself had brought about.

“I try,” Castiel said tensely, his voice low and hissed through clenched teeth, “to keep humanity alive.”

“By cooking?” Dean asked, his tone incredulous, mixed with mocking amusement and he shook his head. “I don’t know, Cas.”

“Yes,” Castiel snapped and Dean turned his eyes that had been fixed on the shadows around them towards Castiel again, taking in the tense line of his shoulders, how his knees were drawn up almost to his chest as if he was about to jump off the couch if Dean did as much as breathe in his direction. Dean opened his mouth, but Castiel beat him to it. “You don’t know anything!” For a moment, Dean couldn’t react to that, widening his eyes in confusion until Castiel shifted forwards and onto his knees. “You just got here Dean. You’ve seen nothing but glimpses of how the world is working right now. That’s all you ever see – _glimpses_. And still you are prideful enough to assume that you know enough to evaluate my efforts? To pass judgment?”

Dean’s silence continued but the surprise that had wiped his thoughts clean from his head soon gave way to a slowly rising irritation.

“Well pardon me for my limited human understanding! But I have lived this life for way longer than you. All the shit that’s happened and humans still pull through. Not thanks to you dicks with wings, but because we’re far stronger than any of you give us credit for!”

When had they moved from enjoying a quiet dinner to arguing? And what exactly were they even arguing about?

“Oh, really?” Castiel spat and Dean was utterly taken aback by the sarcasm and the hollow amusement dripping from his voice. In the flickering light of the lamp Castiel’s movements seemed jerky and from one second to the next he was very close to Dean. His eyes looked charged with some foreign electricity, something he’d seen around Raphael that one time they’d trapped him in a ring of fire or when Alistair had tried to send Castiel back to Heaven. Dean had no idea what it was, but in any case it made him swallow whatever else he had meant to say. “What do you think I am?”

“Far too close, man,” was all Dean managed to choke out and the forced nonchalance of his voice made even him cringe. Castiel did not move one inch but continued searching Dean’s eyes with an intensity that felt almost violent.

“Seeing as you never believed me that things are far more complicated than you thought, let me put it this way,” the angel said and Dean felt the puff of his breath on his face, warm, oddly dry and smelling of rain. “I have a choice. And it’s between working hard and keeping humans living for a few more years, maybe decades, hopefully centuries. Or I’ll turn my back on you, leaving you to perish. And believe me, this is not the first time I’ve been presented with the choice. Yet, as much agony as I’m in as a consequence, the answer has not changed.”

Dean kept on staring into Castiel’s face, the angel one unmoving wall of charged tension, his eyes boring straight into Dean’s until he had to lower them. Dean focused on the collar bone peeking out of Castiel’s shirt instead and wet his lips in an effort to regain his voice.

“Why?” Castiel shifted, slipping almost out of reach towards the fortress of blankets and pillows, his eyes guarded but still honest. Or as honest as Dean could still trust Cas to be. Because angels lied. Because Cas lied.

“Because I believe that it is right,” Castiel said, his voice calmer now and the look in his eyes was vulnerable, almost as if he pleaded for Dean to understand. “You forced me to make a stand, Dean. I did.  And I’ve given too much to just give in now… There are still things I need to do… One thing I need to achieve.” Dean, who had been silent throughout Castiel’s explanation now quirked his eyebrow.

“What?” Castiel lifted his eyes and Dean’s breath hitched. He knew the answer even before the word left Castiel’s lips. It was all there in Castiel’s eyes – open, deep but clear bottomless blue, fragile, hurt but still hopeful.

“Redemption.” At a loss of words and with a burning deep down in his chest, Dean stared at Castiel, then he lifted his hands to cover andrub his lips and chin. Dean felt the silence between them like a heavy burden settling onto his shoulders and for a moment he hated Cas for bringing this up, for making his throat constrict and burn and nothing to wash it down with.

“Yeah… I remember.” Then the silence returned because there was nothing Dean could say.

“I know that my efforts are most likely wasted on you,” Castiel started and yeah, because he was not the right Dean, this was not the right Cas. Dean looked up to find a small smile on Castiel’s lips, it was forced but Dean couldn’t say it wasn’t an appreciated diversion. “But maybe you wouldn’t be averse to a slice of pie?” Dean had to huff a laugh at that, because this turn was not as surprising as it could be even coming from Castiel. Cas had learnt distraction in order to diffuse a situation, but other than with Sam, who might really drop a subject for as long as Dean could survive without acknowledging it, he had a feeling that Castiel would not be that patient. This issue of betrayal and seeking redemption was too big between them to ignore, even through the time gap. To allow both of them time to think by bringing pie into the mix was a clever and most welcome move.

“Yeah. Not averse at all,” Dean said and put on a grin which Castiel mimicked weakly before getting up. He took the empty plate and disappeared into the kitchen, leaving Dean with the silence of the dark living room. “Big slice of pie, Cas!” he called after a while, just to fill the silence. When nothing came back Dean frowned and sat up straighter. “Cas?” From the kitchen he heard the sound of heavy drops hitting the floor and something metallic rattling loudly when it hit the tiles. Dean was up in an instant and rushed to the kitchen. He stopped himself with both hands on the door frame, staring inside. The fire was out and it was almost too dark to see in the small space. But there was no mistaking the tremors that went through Castiel’s hunched body and the black fluid flowing freely from his nose and Castiel’s open mouth. “What’s happening?! Cas! What’s going on?!” He wanted to reach out, but Castiel jerked away violently, slamming the side of his body against the fireplace, grabbing at it with small hands. Dean gave a start and squinted into the fuzzy darkness. Castiel’s shape had changed or was in the process of changing into something smaller. The pants coming out of his mouth were loud and rapid but as Dean watched helplessly they eased up, until Castiel drew in one shuddering breath and straightened. Dean stepped away from the door frame, letting some more light from the living room in.

“Shifted?” Dean dared to ask and received a weak nod in return. Castiel studied his hands and pale arms peeking out of the sleeves. The girl standing in front of Dean was pretty, with dark wavy hair framing delicate facial features, but with a small moan Castiel had shifted back into a form Dean could recognize. “Halfway there I guess?” Dean tried to make his voice light and caught the frown Castiel sent his way. She lowered her head and studied the oily black mess on the kitchen floor, but then she tensed, drew in a sharp breath through her nose and was back to the Cas Dean knew. Without saying anything, Castiel picked up the metal frame the pie had been in, shoving it back into oven. A generous slice of pie on a plate was sitting on the small wooden workspace next to it. Castiel reached out and studied it carefully, possibly for gooey drops, before handing it to Dean.

“Uh, Cas…,” Dean started, but Castiel brushed past him.

“I need to wash up,” he excused himself and Dean was left standing in the kitchen.

* * *

 

Indecisively Dean stepped over the blood and reached into the sink to grab one of his used forks, before resuming his space on the couch. He heard the sound of water coming from down the corridor and he tried listening to any more ominous noises that could indicate a repetition of whatever the hell had just wrecked Castiel’s body. Some Leviathan bullshit probably and even though Dean had long stopped doubting that this shape shifting individual was actually Cas, the gnawing worry that he was just sitting next to a very convincing brand of Leviathan bubbled up inside of him and turned the sweet flavor of pie bitter inside his mouth. Because he couldn’t really know, could he? Sure he bled red blood and he had wings that actually could fly, but he and Sam still had no idea what the Leviathan could actually do. All those months of infrequent exposure to them and they still had no clue. Or what if, Dean mused, the guy didn’t even know that he wasn’t actually the real Castiel, but just some Leviathan that got an overload from all the knowledge stored inside Castiel’s brain? Dean shuddered at the thought. Castiel flopped down onto the sofa out of nowhere and Dean almost hurled the plate and pie at him.

“Dude! A warning would have been nice! Damn angels!!” Castiel just looked up at him, slouching on the couch in a boneless and graceless heap. He smelt fresh, gone was the bitter sea tang smell that had lingered in the kitchen and he was all olive oil and something sweet under it. He wore loose pants and an equally loose t-shirt whose color was hard to tell in the faint light. “So…,” Dean managed to start, unnerved by the even look fixed on him. It lacked intensity and Dean thought that Castiel looked tired, but when Dean busied his mouth with a slice of pie and complimented it the eyes cleared up a bit. “Are you alright?”

“Yes… It took me by surprise. It doesn’t happen much these days,” Castiel explained and Dean drew irregular patterns on the plate with the fork to distract himself from the gnawing doubt and worry.

“Yeah?” Castiel stretched his legs, interlacing his fingers on top of his stomach and turned his head away to look into the shadows.

“A Leviathan assumed a new identity. I always feel it... And my body mimics the absorption of genetic information and usurpation of a new body…,” he explained and Dean frowned.

“You know what those bastards are doing? How is that possible?” he asked warily, because if Castiel noticed the Leviathan’s activities, there was no reason to doubt that the Leviathan were equally aware of what happened around Castiel.

“Well… I’ve been their host… All of them are connected to me in some way. I see through their eyes if I bother to look and I can feel if they undergo change. I’m just glad that they can’t talk to me through this connection…”

“And…” Castiel turned his head around, looking at Dean with a small smile.

“Don’t worry… It’s a one-way connection. I guess I could send them messages if I wanted to, but I don’t see any need to make social calls with the monsters that tear the earth asunder.” Dean had to snort at that, amused at Castiel’s ability to actually make small jokes, even though they weren’t particularly funny. Dean finished his pie under the calm gaze of the angel but it didn’t unnerve Dean as much as it could have because he was stuck with his own thoughts.

“So… It’s like Eve and her monster spawn?” Dean wondered and Castiel huffed at that.

“I am averse to likening myself to that creature, but in theory it is probably the most apt comparison. It certainly doesn’t work like the Host. As far as information exchange is concerned I do seem to have the superior position.” Dean put the plate on the armrest, turning around to face Castiel. He put his arm over the backrest, trying to get comfortable.

“If you know what they’re doing,” Dean started and Castiel tilted his head to indicate he was listening, “then is there any chance that you know what Dick Roman is up to?” Castiel remained silent, face unexpressive and Dean tried to elaborate: “He’s their leader. We’ve been trying to separate his head from his body for months now, but we can’t even get close. He’s up to some freaky stuff, but we just can’t wrap our heads around it.”

“I do know who Dick is,” Castiel told him with a small snort, pulling himself up from his slouching position into something a bit more vertical. Before Dean could make up his mind whether to be childishly amused to hear Castiel say dick or slightly surprised by the familiar way he used the scum’s name, Castiel added: “He is most unpleasant.”

“Yeah. He’s a real bastard,” Dean replied, “so any help at all…?” Castiel looked at him sharply, then he lifted his hands off his stomach to raise them.

“You are living it, Dean…,” he said and Dean lifted an eyebrow. “The Flood, Dean. That is his plan. He tries to gain as much control of the world as he can without making it all collapse. They brought about the Flood… The Leviathan Empire as some people in the Settlements have taken to calling it. The small resistance humanity offers doesn’t make a difference, almost the entire continent is under his control…” Dean didn’t speak up after this not all too helpful explanation. So the Flood… And they actually had nothing in their hands to change it. At least they’d been kinda valuable pieces on the apocalyptic chess board until the angels had figured out how to effectively cheat.

“How much time do we have left until the Flood starts?” Dean asked into the tense silence and Castiel sighed. “Come on, Cas! How long!”

“October 2013… That’s when the Flood started…,” Castiel answered quietly, “I’ve been looking for Dry Lands since March… That was about half a year ago…” Dean breathed in loudly and nodded severely.

“Okay, fine”, he said, biting his lips thoughtfully. “We still have about a year then to hunt that bastard down and kill him,” he concluded. He looked at Castiel but found his blue eyes lowered, looking at the hands that were now resting in his lap. “We’ll stop the Flood, Cas… It won’t happen.” Castiel didn’t say anything, didn’t look back up, but he nodded slowly.

“I need to go through some files before we leave,” he said after a while and slowly got up. Dean followed suit. “Maybe you want to prepare for bed.”

“Not really.” The frown that Castiel sent him at his refusal to grant Castiel some time alone eased up some of Dean’s tension. “Come on, entertain me for a little while.”

“I need to prepare, Dean,” the angel insisted but crossed the living room to a door Dean had previously not seen in the darkness. It was equally dark inside until Castiel switched on a light, a bit brighter than the one inside the living room. Dean assumed that Castiel could probably see well enough in the dark and that the light was just for Dean’s comfort. Dean looked around, finding the room to be something like a study, with a table in the middle and one shelf that would probably fit well into an old post office. The small compartments seemed to be filled with letters or something. Dean saw an armchair standing close to the table and took a seat.

“I thought women could multi-task, sweetheart,” Dean mocked and even in the dim light he could see Castiel roll his eyes.

“Assbutt,” Castiel replied, a content sniffing sound following the insult. Dean wasn’t sure if he liked receiving the same insulting nickname Michael had, but he doubted that Cas could come up with something more innovative on the spot if assbutt had been the best he could do back then. At least it wasn’t mudmonkey. He had never found that to be particularly charming.

“So what exactly is this place? It’s almost like a miniature version of that office back in the settlement,” Dean said into the silence, studying a map that hung on the opposite walls. It depicted the entire world with some places marked in red and sticky notes attached to it so that he could barely make out anything of the oceans. As far as he could see, most of North America was littered with red dots.

“Yes… It’s where I collect letters and information, sort through it and store it before I get the chance to deliver it.”

“You’re a carrier pigeon then?” Dean asked and Castiel snorted but didn’t really contradict it.

“There is no connection among the Settlements. Even though they plan on building something to enable far-distance communication, they just have not yet had the time or the resources to attempt it. So I’m more or less the only channel through which information can travel…”

“Must be quite hard being so cut off,” Dean mused and Castiel shrugged. “What about the cities then? If some settler has a letter for his folks in the city can you actually get it to them? I guess the walls around them are no deal for you.”

“From time to time… It is rare that someone from the Settlement tries to reach their family, but it has happened before… Also, there are people in the cities - mostly former hunters - that I keep in touch with to organize supply runs and relocations…” Dean couldn’t really be pleased to hear that there were hunters left when Castiel had attached a “former” to it. But it still had to count for something.

“Good to know that we’re not the only ones putting up a fight then,” Dean said with a sigh, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Well,” Castiel started again, still going through envelopes and sorting them into neat piles. “Not all of them leave the cities, but whether inside or outside, there isn’t much they can do against the Leviathan other than keeping their eyes open…”

“Do they know you’re an angel?” Dean wondered. As far as he could remember he hadn’t actually introduced him to anyone but the Harvelles and to grandpa Campbell. Rufus might have known him too and maybe the word had spread. But as of now, no hunter had actually asked about the angel, not that supernatural side-kicks were popular in the hunter community.

“Yes,” Castiel replied and when Dean looked up he found a small grin on Castiel’s lips. “Well, it seems I’ve been degraded from the Angel of Thursday to the _Winchester Angel_. Most hunters don’t call me by name… “

“What the hell is an Angel of Thursday?” Dean wanted to know but Castiel didn’t feel like an answer was necessary. So Dean groaned instead. “Okay, fine, be enigmatic. But it’s not my fault if they call you that, you’ve been hanging around us too much.” The fact that Dean had considered him part of the Winchester family once was better not mentioned, not that he needed to, judged by the suddenly guarded expression on Castiel’s face.

“Possible. But since my resurrection I haven’t actually been around you... I tried, but… well.” He trailed off and the silence lasted long enough for Dean to pull something out of the shelf next to him. It was newspaper in a language Dean didn’t understand, maybe something Asian, but he could look at the picture, not that Dick Roman was a welcome sight.

“In any case, it is best that we avoid compounds for as long as you are here. I do not want the Leviathan to notice that Dean Winchester is around, no matter what time he is from.” Dean looked up from the newspaper, curious again.

“What about future me? Do you have any idea where I am?” Castiel shook his head and Dean wasn’t sure if he should be disappointed.

“This is probably a good thing, Dean. I haven’t seen you or Sam through the Leviathan, which means you’re keeping out of their way. I cannot reach you though, I can’t call you and you are still, how did you put it? Flying under angel radar… The only way I could reach you is if you get in the way of a Leviathan or if you prayed to me… I have asked around, but nobody in the compounds seems to know where you are…”

Dean heaved a sigh at that. It didn’t seem like his style to go into hiding. Sure, they didn’t really have many friends left, but someone was bound to know about their whereabouts. Dean straightened up as he realized something.

“Frank.” Castiel raised his head and looked at him in incomprehension. “Frank Devereaux. Kinda crazy, but he helped us out a couple of times; maybe he knows where we are. Do you know him?” Please, Dean thought, don’t let him be dead. He sighed in relief when Castiel nodded.

“Yes, I am aware of Frank. He is keeping up quite well in one of the more secluded settlements on the East Coast. He doesn’t really want to talk to anyone, least of all me. As far as I know he is quite well informed and has been talked into helping people leave America.” Dean hummed to himself in surprise, then he got up from the chair and walked over to the table, where Castiel was now binding the piles with string.

“Maybe he can help find Sam and me,” he suggested. He saw how Castiel’s eyes quickly focused on Dean, before he wrapped the final bundle.

“Why?” he asked, without looking up.

“I need to find out why I’m here. Maybe they can help send me back to my time…” Castiel did look up then, lines forming between his eyebrows. Dean noticed how that must have sounded. He hadn’t meant to imply that Castiel wasn’t able or willing to help him, but now that the pained expression was gone from Castiel’s face again, Dean wasn’t sure how to apologize.

“You might be right,” he said, putting two bundles of letters into the backpack that stood on the table, while he stored the others on the shelf. “It is also on the way to _Raunacht_ …” Dean raised his eyebrow at the unfamiliar term.

“And what’s that? Monster convention?” Castiel put both palms on the table, leaning his weight against it. He somehow looked condescending even when glaring up at Dean. “Sorry that you’ve got the wrong Winchester stuck here. I’m not a walking encyclopedia.”

“ _Raunacht_ is one of many terms applied to a particular night where spirits are to be heard by mortals.  At least generally speaking. In fact _Raunacht_ is just a place of high spiritual energy that facilitates conversation with other spheres. Heaven, Hell…” Dean raised his eyebrow at that.

“Are you still tuned in on angel radio?” Dean wanted to know, but without waiting for an answer he continued: “so how’s life up there with Raphael out of the way?” He noticed that he might not have asked the most sensitive question when he saw the look Castiel shot him.

“I can no longer hear the song of my brothers… Not even whispers,” Castiel confessed and even though Dean wasn’t sure what it meant, the broken tone the angel spoke with was enough for him to press his lips together. “I don’t know if the song has died or if it’s just me… In any case, the silence is my fault, but I will still seek revelation, even if there might no longer be anyone to answer.”

“Cas, man,” Dean started, propping his elbows on the table, leaning on his forearms. “You don’t have to wait for orders, remember? You can make your own choices,” he said. This unfortunately had the effect that Castiel narrowed his eyes, not unfriendly but still doubting. Dean exhaled loudly. “Yeah, okay. Maybe not the best decisions.” Now Castiel did look irritated and Dean was quick to continue: “but you seem to hold up just fine now in this new job.”

“Because I’m trying to make amends,” Castiel told him silently and he straightened, crossing his arms over his chest. Dean couldn’t say much about that, so he just shrugged wordlessly. Castiel’s severe gaze softened and a small sigh escaped his lips. “If you don’t know why you are here, then don’t you wonder about the meaning of your existence?” Dean was surprised by the change of topic and pushed himself away from the table, the expanse of wood between him and Castiel.

“I guess wondering about the meaning of life is a pretty human thing to do,” Dean replied, unsure what the appropriate answer might be.

“Maybe. I don’t know anymore, Dean. I keep believing that there is a reason I’m still here and I hold on to faith. But I have wronged Heaven, my Father and his favorite creation in a way that’s…” Castiel was trying to come up with appropriate words, but in the end he settled on a deep sigh and a shake of his head. “In any case, I know what I have done and I know where I am headed.” Dean tensed up at these words, trying to catch Castiel’s eyes to get a confirmation that he couldn’t possibly be talking about the thing Dean dreaded he was on about. But Castiel avoided his eyes and Dean didn’t dare to step around the table. “In the end it is just a question of how much I can do before I have to leave.”

“I don’t exactly like the sound of this, Cas. Angels don’t go to Hell,” he said but now Castiel did raise his head enough to meet Dean’s eyes. “Okay, fine. But you’re not Lucifer.” Castiel shook his head, lowering his eyes again to some sort of pattern on the surface of the sturdy table.

“No. I’m far worse.”

“Cas-“

“Dean,” the angel cut him off and his voice was weary. “Please… I don’t want to start a philosophical debate right now.”

“It’s not a philosophical _debate_ , this is serious, Cas!” Dean protested but Castiel just stepped around the table, past Dean without getting too close. The room wasn’t that big, Cas had no right to stray so far from Dean’s personal space.

“Don’t you think I know?” Castiel countered, “but there is nothing you can do about it…” Castiel might have repeated that Dean’s just a man, like not too long ago, for how powerless and insignificant the resignation in Castiel’s voice made him feel. “Maybe you should go to bed, Dean. It is late,” Castiel suggested after a while. Dean continued to frown at him.

“Why do you keep sending me to bed? I’ve spent almost all of the time I’ve been here sleeping!” Dean had half a mind of being defiant, of not following Castiel out of the study, even when the light in the room switched off without Castiel touching it. But in the end he gave in and followed Castiel back to the bedroom. “How long have I been here anyway?”

“A bit more than 24 hours,” Castiel told him, then he indicated his head towards the door.

“It’s your room. I can get comfortable on your couch,” Dean argued. He’d seen worse than Castiel’s pillow infested couch.

“I doubt it, other than you I can make myself very small,” Castiel said and for the first time in quite a while his lips quirked up into a smile. “Literally.”

“Dude…”

“And I don’t need to sleep. I merely need to rest, so if you don’t want me to-“ Dean lifted his hands and groaned.

“Yes okay! If I don’t want to get mojoed to dreamland I have to hit the sack. I got it,” he said with a snort. Castiel nodded once, slowly. “Don’t you want to tell me to go wash up and brush my teeth?”

“I don’t know,” Castiel said thoughtfully, “do I need to tell you?”

“Ah, shut up,” Dean replied, unable to keep the amusement out of his voice, and Castiel smiled at him.

“Good  night, Dean.”

“Night Cas,” he said and Castiel turned around, walking down the dark corridor. Dean huffed, then he moved away from the door. His watch was sitting on the night table, showing early after-noon in mid-November. Maybe the time back at home, but he couldn’t be sure. 24 hours, Cas had said. He wondered if he was also granted three days, just like the last time. Which meant not even two more days of trying to figure out what he was supposed to be doing here.

* * *

 

Up close Dean could see the specks of color in blue, little nuances of lighter hues and darker ones, flecks of gold even. Cas’ pupils were blown wide, the inky black swallowing the blue with all its flaws and depth, just one homogenous mass of darkness pushing against the blue confines. Like a salt line almost and when it broke then there’d be one uniform black. Older than demonic even, so old that there was no more divinity in it, just rage and the power to reverse creation.

“Once you take the hurdle of making a choice,” Cas whispered and he could count the lines in the dry lips. “It’s nothing but the long Fall afterwards.” Dean’s hand felt warm and moist, pressing so close against Cas’ shirt. It was rumpled, soaking up sloppy patterns. “Am I wrong Dean?”

A grin on Cas’ face, that was wrong. The scent of incense sticks mixed with bitter copper and olive oil, that was wrong. Ruby’s knife, buried to the hilt in Cas’ chest, that was wrong. His lips against Cas’ scratchy beard, that was wrong. There was nothing right about this, nothing that would ever be right again about them.

“Bleed it out then, my wrongness, Dean,” Cas breathed against the side of Dean’s face. “Drain the choice out of me and plant your own seed.”

Vibrant red blood dropped into the empty flask, hollow sounds echoing next to Cas’ breathing. He was warm and wet slumped against Dean’s body. He was bleeding over Dean’s shirt. He’d just wash it off, Cas didn’t leave stains. Even his imprints faded over time.

“When have you last been fearless, Dean?” Dean saw past him, saw Sam sitting on a chair with a calm expression, watching Cas bleed at Dean’s feet.

“I don’t know what’s wrong,” Sam spoke into the silence, eyes on him, clear and focused. Just who was he talking to? Cas was dying. Dead. “I just can’t get through to him. Shouldn’t this thing work both ways? I just get static most of the time. And he’s snoring.”

The room was fading, the weight of Cas shifting as he got less substantial, engulfing him like a warm blanket. Blanket? Ah, he was dreaming.

“ _You_ snore,” he mumbled back, breathing in the scent of the pillow. Sam didn’t reply for quite a while.

“I think he’s waking up!” He could still hear him, but why was Sam shouting into the pillow? Muffled, he couldn’t hear him well. “Dean! Focus! Where are you?”

“Cas’ bed…,” Dean answered, but then he groaned and opened one eye. There was nothing more but static and snippets of what might have been words. Dean looked at the room, lit with early morning light and lazily listened to the white noise, but then he widened his eyes and shot up.

“Sam? Sammy!” he called into the room, but he couldn’t make out any clear words and even the noise was getting fainter. Dean hissed a curse, but then he closed his eyes to concentrate. “I don’t know if you can hear me, Sam, or where you are,” he started and even though he felt like a lunatic talking to himself, the chance that Sam actually heard him made him go on. “But I’m okay. I’m in 2014. Just sit tight, I’ll manage. Got an angel that can send me back. Hopefully. Stay safe, Sammy.”  Dean opened one eye just slightly, peeking around the room, not that he expected Sam to magically pop up. It wouldn’t be totally unexpected either though, stranger things have happened to him over the years. The voice didn’t return though and the noise inside his head died down with some last bursts of stuttering gibberish. “Shit,” Dean huffed. Maybe it had just been a dream after all. At that thought Dean froze, the last images of the rather restful night coming back in full-color. “Shit!” he repeated and couldn’t help looking down at his chest. His shirt was clean. It had just been a dream after all. Dean listened if he could hear Castiel, not entirely sure he wanted to see him, but when only silence met his ears Dean turned his head around, checking out the room.

There was a small window with closed shutters, but enough light came in through the cracks in the wood to light up the interior. Castiel had a strange assortment of old furniture heaped in the rather small space. There were colorful woven rugs on the floor just next to either side of the bed, patterns intricate. The bed itself was made of sturdy wood, the head-board high and decorated with etchings and floral paintings. The cushions and the comforter Dean had thrown off the bed in a burst of offended masculinity were in a similar style. Lisa, Dean recalled, had never been one for such old-fashioned motifs, going for practicality and modern geometrical patterns. To find Cas - the guy who had not even changed out of his clothes once in all the years Dean had known him - caring about filling his room with clutter was rather odd. Pulling on his socks, Dean walked over to the closet standing in one corner. It too was painted and had holes in the swirly shape of flowers cut into the upper part of the doors. It seemed like one monster of a closet, reaching all the way up to the painted wooden beams and Dean was curious enough to pull the double doors open. Inside it was neatly organized, with clothes filling the shelves and more hanging from the clothes’ rail. Dean also noticed that most of them seemed to be women’s clothes, with one off-white dress with pure white and expensive looking laces circling the hem and collar. Some sort of tag was still attached to it and Dean turned the high gloss card around in a bout of puzzled curiosity.

_“To the brightest of the Fallen. May we soon be joined as King and Queen.”_

Dean cringed at the slightly disturbing text, hoping that this was not some sick idiot’s idea of romance. And that it had just randomly gotten into Castiel’s possession. Dean heard the door creak and had the decency to look sheepish when Castiel peeked inside only to find him snooping around his closet.

“Good morning Dean,” Castiel greeted, making no comment on Dean’s activity, which did not ease up the embarrassment, but it did make him bold enough to satisfy his curiosity.

“What’s about all the clothes?” Dean wondered, pulling at one corner of the white dress.

“You might have noticed that my clothes no longer mend themselves, I do need to change,” Castiel replied calmly and came into the room. Dean noticed that he was carrying Dean’s clothes – the ones he’d crashed into the future with – in his arms. He put them on the unmade bed.

“Girl clothes?” Castiel turned around, eyebrows raised at Dean, who just pulled at the lacey dress once more for emphasis.

“Maybe this is hard for you to grasp, but it is equally interesting being female as it is being male. I do not have a preference at all,” he told him but Dean wrinkled his nose and snorted.

“Yeah right, no preference I can discern,” he teased, but had to grin when Castiel rolled his eyes at him.

“When I’m at home I usually just recharge and it’s easiest in this body’s natural state. Which is female,” he explained with a patience that didn’t show on his face. “I’m just being polite for your sake.” Polite was a strange way of putting it, but Dean wasn’t complaining. Cas already got his head all messed up just by being present and he didn’t need another layer attached to it by having him walk around in a female meat-suit.

“Riiiight.” Dean let go of the dress and shut the closet again, too confused by the strange tag to ask about it. Not that it should concern Dean, but it was a chance to tease Castiel about potential admirers.

“What are you doing anyway, Dean?” Castiel wondered, not reacting to Dean’s tone of voice and started tugging at the covers. Dean watched him make the bed before coming up with an answer.

“I think I’ve heard Sam,” he confessed and Castiel looked over his shoulder.

“So you had to look if he was hiding in my wardrobe?” he wondered in amusement and finished putting the pillows on top of the bed. Dean snorted, but didn’t have to answer, because Castiel was turning back to him with a more serious expression. “I assure you that Sam hasn’t come to this time…”

“No, I didn’t think so either. It’s just that at times I have this noise in my head but I cannot make out words. It seems to be clearer when I’m not completely awake. I am sure he’s talking to me, but I just don’t know how and why it doesn’t work properly.” Castiel seemed to think about this new revelation.

“We should find out what is going on then. Maybe he is trying to contact you from his own time. It should be almost impossible.” He drummed his fingertips against his lips in contemplation. “Interesting…”

“Yeah, very,” Dean said flatly, “look, can we just ignore how awesome Sam is and try to figure out why I’m here? I’ve got half a feeling that my time here is not unlimited.” Castiel nodded.

“Of course. I’ll be in the kitchen,” he said, then he left the room without another word. Slightly confused by Castiel’s swift departure, Dean picked up his clothes and walked out of the room. The corridor looked a bit less narrow without the shadows pressing in so closely, but it was still rather gloomy. He tilted his head upwards and frowned at the ceiling. It looked like clay with chunks of wood of varying sizes crisscrossing through it. The walls were white-washed and smooth with sigils and signs Dean had never before seen painted on them. Tearing away his eyes from Castiel’s strange choice of décor, he fumbled with the doorknob to the bathroom and this time he was careful to not miss the steps.

* * *

 

Washed, dressed and refreshed, he wandered into the living room where he stopped and had to stare in awe. In the daylight that came through two big windows the circular room looked rather impressive. There was the one door leading to the study and another one that might have been the entrance. What he hadn’t seen in the darkness of the previous night were the elaborate rugs placed on the floor boards and the four wooden pillars rising up towards the ceiling. The ceiling was something else. Dean wouldn’t even dare to actually call it that; the pillars with their etchings and colorful scraps of fabric wound around them at places disappeared into a colorful mixture of more fabric, big sheets with rich embroidery, cords that hung down, beads and glass that glittered in the light. There were feathers too and something that looked like tree branches and dark red foliage peeked out between the other things.

“I got some eggs and milk from the closest Settlement. I only had stale bread,” came Castiel’s voice and Dean tore his eyes away from the ceiling to turn his head in the direction of the kitchen. Castiel carried a plate and a small bowl out of the kitchen, oblivious to Dean’s marvel, setting both on a small table Dean spotted only now. It was pushed against a corner, between one shelf and another, with two mismatched chairs and a cord hanging low over the surface. Attached to the end of the cord was some sort of glass globe that held a small unlit candle.

“Dude, how long have you said you’ve been back among the living?” Dean wondered and his wording had probably been bad because Castiel’s shoulders tensed up immediately. Dean tried to just continue speaking: “Because this house is seriously awesome!” The praise made Castiel relax and he put his hand around the top of the closest chair’s backrest, drumming his fingers against the wood.

“Thank you. I am rather proud of it myself,” he replied with a small smile and lifted one hand, pointing towards the other chair. “Take a seat.” Dean did, taking a gulp of the coffee Castiel offered him. It wasn’t the best he ever had, but it was the right thing to properly wake up his brain.

“Did you steal it right out of the Shire or what? It’s so oddly organic and Sam’d probably hit his head on each doorframe.” Castiel quirked his eyebrow at him and Dean shrugged, not really expecting an answer. “What did you mean when you said you had to go to the settlement to get eggs and milk? You went shopping?” Dean eyed the plate of scrambled eggs, pancakes and some sort of muesli hungrily and Castiel pushed everything closer to Dean in a silent encouragement to eat.

“In a manner. I don’t need to eat things as these, especially as they’re hard to store. I don’t have many guests so I don’t see the point in acquiring livestock.” Dean laughed at that, focusing on his breakfast. “And about the house… I can’t bear to live in concrete buildings… Now that I’m confined to the physical plane I at least want to feel comfortable… Closer to the natural state of things on this planet so to speak…,” he explained. “It’s an angel thing,” he added in good humor when Dean just stared at him in surprise. Dean swallowed the bite of pancake and lifted his head.

“Wait a minute. Run this by me again,” he said and Castiel looked at him quizzically. “You are confined to this physical plane? What does that even mean?”  Castiel withdrew at that, pressing his back flat against the chair and Dean assumed that the oppressive silence would now hang over his breakfast like a rain cloud, but after a while Castiel did speak up.

“This is no vessel,” he started and Dean nodded, that much he could still remember. It had always been a bit difficult to figure out the entire vessel business even if he had been destined to be one. From the first time he fired the Colt at a demon he had learnt to switch off the knowledge that there were humans in there somewhere. And angels…? He just didn’t think about it, ignored the fact that within Castiel there must have been a human soul confined somewhere. Heck, even that was wrong, seeing as Castiel’s body had never belonged to him in the first place. “I am tied to this body... Even though I can change its shape I can no longer leave it…” Castiel went on to explain and Dean looked up from his plate to study Castiel’s expression. He was frowning at Dean. “I once tried and knocked myself out for a couple of days. I can still feel… myself, even though I seem to be… different, more solid in a way…” He looked at Dean, willing him to understand but Dean knew nothing about it, he had nothing but a soul after all and it wasn’t as if he could tell Castiel how that felt. “The same seems to be true for my Grace… It doesn’t run out when I use my abilities, so whoever is in charge in Heaven has not cut me off yet…”

“But you’re earthbound,” Dean summarized and Castiel nodded heavily. “So no more Chrysler Building high lightshow?”

“I’m not a lightshow, Dean,” Castiel said with a snort, but then he got pensive and silent all of a sudden. Dean raised an eyebrow in confusion.

“Cas? You still with me?”

“I told you, I can’t just leave this body,” Castiel replied and Dean was almost glad to have a glare directed at him, at least it was better than that almost melancholic expression. “This means I cannot go back to Heaven, neither can I descend to Hell through the usual means…”

“What? Dying?” Dean wondered.

“Usual means for angels,” Castiel clarified and Dean shrugged. “I would need gates to go to other spheres… I am not sure about dying though… I don’t know if I can be killed and I don’t think I have a soul…” Dean hesitated, studying Castiel’s downcast eyes and forced himself to ask.

“What about Jimmy then? He’s left the building?” Castiel lowered his head farther so that Dean could see nothing but his unruly hair, shoulders drawn up and tense. He looked… ashamed? “I… it’s okay if you don’t want to… you know…” Dean made futile gestures with his hands, unsure what to even say. “You don’t need to tell me…”

“He’s been with me...” Castiel’s voice was low, gentle almost and Dean saw him clench his hands on top of his knees. “But when I took all the souls inside of me… I lost focus…” Dean lifted his eyebrows, shifting his eyes to the side with a silent snort. That probably was the most euphemistic way of putting it. “And when I returned the souls…” He shook his head. “I was dying; I didn’t pay attention. I don’t know where he is… I don’t know if he’s inside me or if he’s ascended to Heaven or…” Castiel trailed off and Dean waited for more to come on the topic, but nothing did. Dean leant back in his chair, watching Castiel, but he didn’t move. After a moment Dean widened his eyes, placing both of his hands flat on the table.

“You’ve sent him off to Purgatory?!” Castiel flinched and hunched over even further, his head almost touching the table’s surface. It might have been comical if the situation hadn’t been so messed up.

“I don’t know…!” Cas replied, his voice a pained whine and Dean slammed his hands on the table in exasperation.

“Dammit, Cas!” Castiel had nothing to say to this and honestly, what did Dean expect to hear? An apology? He was not the person he should apologize to. “He deserved better! Didn’t you think about him before you let those Purgatory souls have a party in his body?”

“I assumed my strength would suffice,” was all Castiel said and before Dean could unleash curses upon his head (not that Dean was planning on it) he pushed back his chair and got up. Retreating into the kitchen and it was strange to think that he had no other way of fleeing a conversation anymore.

“You grossly misjudged your own abilities,” Dean huffed loud enough to be heard and set about to bring his used dishes into the kitchen where Castiel was staring into the empty sink. “Cas…” Dean thought that he should be angry on Jimmy’s behalf and he was, but he didn’t have to energy to constantly go on and on, wearing himself and this time’s Castiel thin by his unforgiving anger. Especially not if he had to go through it again once his own time’s Castiel was resurrected.

The realization hit Dean with surprising force, like a punch in his gut. Painful but illuminating. Castiel was coming back. It was no longer just a yearning and stubborn clinging to the fact that he always came back. He studied Castiel, still giving off the appearance that he wished to be able to fold into himself. This was what he’d become this time, away from a Dean that had been too broken for anger and too broken to care. It was better but it was far from ideal. He’d do better; he would be strong enough or angry enough to push him forward. Strong enough to not push him away. He might as well try a first step towards it. “It happens to the best of us…” Castiel didn’t acknowledge him immediately, but he didn’t move away either.

“Dean?” Castiel asked and Dean was relieved to hear him speak to him even though he still stared into the sink, hands clawing at the stone it was set into.

“Yes?” Dean waited patiently while Castiel was silent, lips pressed together.

“Do you think that there is even a chance that I might be forgiven?” Even though Dean had been preparing for something like this to come up in connection to this topic he was still unsure how to reply.

“If I could take you back into my time,” Dean started after a while, “I’m sure we’d figure something out…”  It might have been a bit of an ambiguous answer and Castiel wasn’t able to suppress a silent sigh.

“Well, I guess that’s a diplomatic maybe…” Castiel said but when he finally lifted his head he was smiling slightly. A broken small smile, but it was there. Dean sucked in a breath and then he finally reached out, putting his hand on Castiel’s shoulder. He patted him tentatively before resting his palm on the soft fabric covering his shoulder. Castiel actually seemed surprised, his smile slipping. He blinked up at Dean, his eyes searching and hopeful, just like he had looked when promising Dean to redeem himself. And shit, Dean didn’t quite know what to do with it. He did want Castiel to set things right and to clean up his mess, heal Sam’s wall, resurrect Bobby, smite the Leviathan out of existence. This Castiel couldn’t do it for him, but he apparently was still so desperate to do it anyway that even Dean’s little gesture of comfort went such a long way.

“I know it doesn’t mean much with this time gap between us, but…,” Dean squeezed Castiel’s shoulder. “I appreciate it… I’m glad you’re alive, Cas…” Dean waited for some reaction but Castiel was still wide-eyed. After a while he lifted his hand and mirrored Dean’s touch, digging his fingers into his shirt.

“Thank you, Dean,” Castiel said and swallowed before he could manage a smile. Dean returned the smile, but then he inhaled loudly.

“Okay, enough or I’ll have an allergic reaction,” Dean said loudly, patting Castiel’s shoulder once more before letting his hand slide down his arm. Castiel was more reluctant to let go.

“I could reassume my female body,” he suggested and Dean felt taken aback by the hopefulness in Castiel’s tone of voice. Castiel seemed to notice Dean’s lack of immediate reaction because he took a step backwards, letting go of Dean’s shoulder. “My apologies.” His voice had returned to its normal rough quality and Dean was so confused by the sudden change in the atmosphere that he had to groan.

“Don’t apologize! It’s okay,” he assured him and sighed deeply, “weird. But okay.” Dean made a grimace, recalling what Castiel had said before on this rather weird topic. “You actually… really are a woman, right? All hormones and whatever included.” Castiel seemed seriously confused by Dean bringing this topic up and Dean had to sputter an explanation: “It’s just that you mentioned it before and—“

“Oh,” Castiel voiced pensively. “Yes. Even if I change shapes, this physical frame holding me is primarily female,” he explained and Dean found that even harder to grasp as angel possessed vessels not changing at all. How could he have a female biology thing going on when the surface of his body – and possibly the inside too! – changed all of the time? “So, you must excuse my mood swings. I am currently ovulating.” Dean jerked away from him and slammed his ass into the low counter in surprise. He winced. Castiel laughed, shaking his head at him and Dean widened his eyes even more. It was such a small sound, more like a silent chuckle, but he _was_ laughing. Dean didn’t even care that the joke was on him, because it was… oddly pleasant.

“You’re such a dick,” Dean hissed in embarrassment, but with not nearly enough venom, his snarl cracking into a grin. Castiel shrugged and left the kitchen, going back to the living room.

* * *

 

Castiel was sitting on a worn rug when Dean had processed their exchange and recovered enough to join him. “You can change if you need to,” he offered and Castiel looked up at him through his bangs. Dean felt silly bringing the topic up again, but he considered it fair to extend his uneasiness for cutting short Castiel’s need for… what? A pat on the back? Physical proximity? Comfort?

Dean knew pretty well why Castiel had offered a female body just to be allowed to stay close. He wasn’t sure that it would have changed anything, because Cas was still Cas and Dean was still Dean. Which didn’t change the expression of dismay he’d seen on Castiel’s face upon Dean’s rejection. He hadn’t even meant to reject him, he’d just been surprised!

“Thank you for your consideration, but there is no need,” Castiel retorted dryly, putting an end to this discussion. Dean huffed, but he sat down opposite Castiel, seeing that apart from pillows there were also various items arranged between them.

“That’s all I carried on me?” Dean wondered and Castiel nodded, then he reached out, putting his fingers on the closest object. “Okay, we’ve got,” Dean started again and took stock of the things before him, “Ruby’s knife, Bobby’s empty flask.” His gaze came to rest on what Castiel seemed to be invested in. It was an angel blade, its surface polished and unblemished.

“An Archangel’s blade,” Castiel stated what Dean already knew. “You kept Raphael’s weapon,” he said, never touching it more than with his fingertips.

“Yeah? Uh… Is that a problem?” Dean wondered and saw Castiel slowly shake his head, his expression carefully controlled. Dean watched him for a change but when none came he pulled it out of Castiel’s fingers, unsure what damage it could do. Dean wondered if future him had stabbed Castiel with exactly this blade, like Sam had done not too long ago. Castiel had not forgotten as it seemed, still eyeing the blade with a mix of caution and grief.

“Just be careful with it,” Castiel advised, but didn’t elaborate on why. Dean didn’t need to hear it; Bobby had already given him a lecture about responsible handling of very powerful artifacts. It usually was in a sealed box in the trunk seeing as there didn’t seem to be any angels to slay around. It just made him carrying it even stranger.

Dean turned his attention to the last item: a longish wooden box he vaguely recognized. Castiel opened it before Dean could, affirming his suspicions. It was the box they had once used for the Colt and its bullets, unsurprisingly empty except for a single, long golden thread. Dean frowned and reached inside, carefully picking it up between the tips of his index finger and thumb.

“What the hell?” he exclaimed, squinting at it. “That looks like the thread we’ve found with the victims during Balthazar’s Titanic mess.” He looked over at Castiel and found him wearing a closed off expression. Understandable. “Does it just look like Fate’s thread or is it really one?”

“I’m rather positive it belonged to Atropos,” Castiel said, moving a bit closer to study it without touching. “Though I wonder why you’re carrying it around…”

“Hn,” Dean huffed in surprise, studying the thread, “maybe we were working a case and Fate remembered that she didn’t like us?” Dean lifted his head and looked over at Castiel. “Could she actually send me through time?”

“Why would she do that?” Castiel countered with a frown and he held out his hand. Dean looked at the palm in confusion, then he handed him the gold thread. Castiel lifted it closer to his face, looking at it with an intent expression as if he were willing it to spill its secrets. Dean lifted his hands in exasperation. Since when did supernatural bastards need a reason to mess with Dean and his brother?

“ _Could_ she do that?” Dean repeated and Castiel didn’t take his eyes off to answer Dean:

“No. The Fates might have been given the power and the task to weave destinies but they aren’t actually able to travel through time,” he explained, “or else she wouldn’t have come to set the time-line right.” Dean quirked his eyebrows at that.

“Yeah, fun times,” he mumbled, then he snatched the gold thread back from Castiel, glaring at it in disdain. “So what am I doing with this? Is it part of the case – if the case exists – or do I have to count on Fate’s involvement in my future trip?”

“As I said, she couldn’t send you to the future, but maybe she did supply you with this,” Castiel flicked his fingers towards the thread.

“This?” he asked incredulously, letting the gold dangle from his fingers, “what am I supposed to do with it?”

“Not all the threads the Fates are carrying with them are tied to human souls. This one seems unmarked,” Castiel told him, shifting to sit cross-legged, palms on his knees.

“And?” Dean asked, waiting for some kind of more elaborate explanation, “what could it do?”

“Conceal something if done properly,” Castiel said slowly, thinking it over. Dean lifted one eyebrow and Castiel bent his upper body a bit, bringing his face closer to the faintly glittering gold. For some reason Dean thought it was familiar, just a thin line of glitter and he had the feeling he should know exactly what to do with the stupid thing.

“Conceal it from what? The Fates?” Castiel shook his head and Dean sighed, “of course. Would have been too obvious.”

“It’s a rare thing to have, so I guess a time traveler might find it useful,” Castiel said and Dean looked at him in confusion. “If you took something out of a point in time and placed it into another it would harm the natural order. This is especially true for the future, considering that there is not one clear cut path, but a multitude of options. If you took something potent from my time back to yours, it could impair the flow of time in unforeseen ways.”

“But we did it before, right?” Dean argued, letting the thread drop back into the empty box, “we’ve gone to the past to retrieve the phoenix ash! Sure, we didn’t manage but you didn’t say anything about us endangering our timeline!”

“Because,” Castiel answered patiently, “you had an angel to guide you. I expected to fetch you and make sure that nothing happened. And the Fates would clean up messes, as you’ve seen. The past cannot be changed by humans, but you could make a potential future more probable by connecting it to your own time via a linking object.” Dean snorted.

“So… You think I actually planned on coming here?” he wondered, then he huffed a mirthless laugh, “because that’s pretty stupid. What could I possibly want here?” Castiel didn’t reply for a while.

“I think it’s not impossible. But it confuses me how you even managed to time travel,” he finally said, slowly raising his head to study Dean. “Did you meet any angels?”

“Uh, no?”

“Gods or demi-gods?” Dean widened his eyes and it was answer enough because Castiel waited for him to go on talking.

“There was this case some time ago. Turned out we were hunting down Chronos…”

“Hah,” Castiel said, sounding surprised, “You do seem have a track record with slaying gods.” Castiel didn’t even seem judgmental, but rather amused, even though Dean’s eyes immediately snapped to the ex-god in front of him.

“Had a few close calls in the god slaying business, but I’d say I’m not that bad at it.” Castiel was still smiling, even when he continued speaking:

“Chronos could send you to the future,” Castiel said, his strange, dark mirth slowly going back to severity, “but I think his abilities are not well channeled… A misfired attempt might have caused you to temporarily lose your memory of the past few days.” Dean let himself fall back onto his outstretched arms with a groan.

“We killed Chronos, Cas. He couldn’t send me into the future,” Dean argued, shaking his head, but then he frowned, “God, tell me this isn’t some kind of impossible to understand time paradox thing?” Castiel chuckled, tapping his fingers against his kneecaps and shook his head. “Good, because let me tell you. I hate time travelling.”

“Time travelling is not as complex as you perceive it to be,” Castiel assured him and Dean snorted. “Fine, from a human’s perspective it might be.” He was silent for a while, studying Dean, but then he continued: “Chronos didn’t necessarily send you. It’s very difficult to do, but if you have the right spell and the right ingredients, among those the blood of a creature that is able to travel through time, you could achieve jumping forwards or backwards in time.” Dean remained silent for a while, trying and failing to remember any ritual. He couldn’t recall collecting anything off Chronos. In the end he sighed deeply, giving up on trying to force his memory.

“So you really think I’m supposed to be here? And that I’ve just forgotten about it?” he asked and Castiel nodded.

“Maybe not here specifically, but I assume that a time travel was at least intended. I could of course be wrong and someone did send you against your will,” he said and studied the other items. “Does your equipment remind you of anything? Why would you choose to bring those items?” Dean shifted his weight off his arms and sat up straight again.

“That’s what doesn’t make sense to me, because it’s a strange assortment…!” he said, looking over the items – demon killing knife, angel killing blade and Fate’s threat in the colt’s box. And his gun and Bobby’s flask, of course. He lifted his head to look at Castiel again. “You’re absolutely sure you haven’t missed anything?”

“I am. You haven’t brought your wallet, mobile phone or car keys. All you had you carried on you, no additional bag, no note.” Dean frowned because it still didn’t add up. “Well…,” Castiel continued as Dean was trying to puzzle it together. “You also carried a box of condoms on you and some pills… I tossed the pills because they got wet but the condoms are in your bag…”

“Condoms? And entire pack of them?” Castiel raised his eyebrows at him and it looked almost challengingly. Dean had to laugh at Castiel’s absolutely unimpressed reaction. “Maybe I just got back from buying stuff,” he said and Castiel frowned at him.

“Without your wallet? And with an arsenal of weapons on your person?” Okay, Castiel was right about that, even though he did occasionally go “shopping” without using his wallet. But the weapons…

What kind of case was this? Ruby’s knife was against demons, the archangel blade against angels and his gun had its normal round of silver bullets. He tried to remember what had happened, anything at all, but nothing came to him. No flashes, no Sammy static. He didn’t even know how much he missed; the last thing he remembered was waiting for some Leviathan news to pop up and squatting in an abandoned house in the middle of nowhere.

Castiel getting back on his feet with a small sigh pulled Dean out of his thoughts. He looked up at him in confusion, saw how Castiel raised his arms over his head, then down behind his back to stretch. Dean could see a sliver of skin as the shirt rode up on his stomach and it was… Just like the glimpse of breasts he’d gotten not too long ago. It made his stomach clench with unease and nervousness.

“Dean.” Dean gave a start and lifted his head. Castiel was tugging his shirt back down, his expression quizzical.

“Sorry, wasn’t listening,” Dean apologized and watched Castiel bend down to put everything back into the new bag.

“I noticed,” he said and Dean was kind of envious of how flexible Castiel seemed to be, fingers easily reaching the floor without even having to bend his knees. Dean’s knees protested when he got back on his feet and he felt old next to an angel, who might as well be thousands of years old. “I suggested we continue this discussion while moving.” Dean cringed at that because he really didn’t want to go back outside where even breathing seemed lethal. He had half a mind to argue against it, tell him here was as good a place as any to solve this mystery, but Castiel was right. “Dean,” Castiel started, handing the bag over. “I need to be at Raunacht… And I can’t leave you here.”

“I don’t need a babysitter,” Dean scoffed, reluctantly taking the bag.

“Dean, I’ve saved your ass many times,” Castiel said, turning to him with a grin tugging at his mouth even though he attempted to be stern. “Believe me, you do need a babysitter. And seeing how Sam isn’t around you’re stuck with me.” Castiel winked at him as he passed him and Dean was torn between the urge to snarl something nasty in the angel’s direction and being appalled at how he had his moments of nonchalance in between all the bitterness and guilt.

Dean waited in the living room, watching Castiel walk around, collecting a jacket and his backpack. His movements were quick and efficient and Dean wondered just what he wanted Cas to be. Not human, not weak, not broken. But not so overwhelmingly superior either that he could no longer hope to reach him.

“I’ll miss your bath,” Dean said morosely and Castiel laughed at that.

“Well,” he said and faced Dean with a genuine smile that made his eyes shine with fondness. “You will always be welcome. Any time.”

That was a promise.


	4. Chapter 4

**Part 3**

Dean tried to recall as they plowed on through fields of high purple flowers, their petals speckled with silver. He watched Castiel walking before him, his step slow enough that Dean could follow at an easy pace and Dean wondered if he had ever thought Castiel to look small. He studied his back, rucksack rising as far up as his neck, how his hands swayed, brushing the flowers, raining silver dust onto the moss covered floor.

Dean had walked behind Castiel before, but most of the time he ran ahead, went somewhere and assumed Castiel would follow. To save him, to learn some of the very important lessons on humanity Dean found to teach him. Castiel had become so easy to impress on, a promise of violence or abandonment pushing him to follow Dean’s whims. It was more than ridiculous – an Angel of the Lord looking up to Dean Winchester for guidance. But it wasn’t surprising, Dean mused as he watched the flasks with blessed water dangling from the backpack, swaying with each sure step Castiel took. Because Cas hadn’t known where to turn to when Dean had forced him to cut ties with heaven.

And now he looked so small even though he had a destination in mind Dean didn’t see coming.

Dean gave a slight start when he noticed Castiel looking at him over his shoulder and it made Dean step off the path of trampled down grass and flowers he’d set himself to walk on.

“Are you alright?” Castiel wondered when Dean took a few hurried steps to catch back up with the other man, his eyes fixed not on Castiel’s clear eyes, but on how his hair curled around his ears and neck. “Dean, do you need to stop?” Dean did look at Castiel then, his frown meeting Castiel’s concerned expression.

“What? We’ve only left your house two hours ago! Don’t be stupid,” he replied, unsure whether he should feel indignant with how Cas was still so intent on treating him like a sickly child. The leather bag he has slung around his shoulder was light, carrying nothing but his own things and one flask of water and a couple of sandwiches in the unlikely case they’d get separated. At least that had been Cas’ explanation, Dean suspected that he did it because he felt Dean would be reluctant to ask for anything unless he had to. The rash on his hand and feet was gone and he felt fine, even trailing the borders of these unpopulated areas. He could feel the air around him getting drier which did make it harder to breathe and he was getting hot. But he could take care of himself.

“Now is hardly the moment for your pride,” Castiel told him sternly, but turned his head to look ahead of him. Dean wondered what Castiel saw. Corruption? Potential Dry Lands? For Dean it was just empty no man’s land. “This isn’t your battlefield, Dean. You should be careful.” Dean lowered his brows at that, a crease forming between his eyebrows.

“Do you see me fighting? I’m just hiking through vengeful vegetation,” Dean said, hitting his flat palm against a flower, its petals bursting away with a small explosion of silver dust.

“Don’t do that,” Castiel warned without turning his head.

“I’m not doing anything,” Dean retorted quickly, glaring at the back of Castiel’s head. “I’m just saying. Don’t treat me like a child!”

“Funny, isn’t it,” Castiel called and turned his head to both sides, without actually looking back at Dean, “to be on the receiving end of it?” Dean frowned and Castiel steered them to the right where Dean could see the field ending in low shrubbery and probably plain grass fields behind that. A hazy mist rose from the ground and he couldn’t make out anything in the distance.

“What?” Dean asked and was still careful to walk in the path Castiel had made.

“In this world you are out of your depth. I am trying to help,” now he turned to look at Dean, his eyebrows lowered into a skeptical frown. “I know that you are an adult and that you are capable of handling difficult situations.” Dean studied him unsure what to retort but he chose to nod after a while.

“Okay, good,” he said slowly, tentatively, because he felt that Castiel had a lot more to say on this. Castiel stared back, pressing his lips together, turning them pale, showing their cracks in a darker shade of pink. Dean wondered when that had become remotely fascinating, looking up at Castiel’s eyes instead. Castiel lowered his eyes and Dean only got the tail end of something dangerous, something angry before Castiel sighed and shook his head. The tension just slipped off of him like a coat and the words, whatever Castiel had meant to say, were left untouched.

“Tell me when you want to rest,” Castiel finally said, turning around and making for the end of the flower field. Dean was left with the gaping gulf unsaid words had torn open before him.

* * *

 

The sky was turning darker, from opaque white to a washed out grey, constantly deepening in shade, mixed with watery red stains in the distance. There was nothing but dried grass under Dean’s boots and into the distance, but the air was getting drier the further East (was it East? Hard to tell without the sun, but that’s where Cas had said they’d be going) they went.

Dean wondered how many hours he had spent watching the rucksack bounce and how he had managed not to cave in under the weight of his thoughts, desperate to fill the silence stretching like these wide nameless plains between them. He didn’t ask any questions but he thought them, for once hoping that Cas’ angel mojo might pick them up, but so far he hadn’t been successful. Dean wasn’t even sure what he wanted to ask Castiel apart from “why are you mad at me? Why are you disappointed in me?” and when nothing penetrated the silence but Dean crunching dry blades of grass under his boots his thoughts turned to a more vicious hum of “you’ve got no right to be angry. You’ve got no right to be disappointed.”

Dean’s thoughts were raging, a constant buzz in his ears that might have well been Sam trying to reach him in how annoying and queasy they made him feel. He and his morose thoughts should not be left alone. Forcing his own hurt pride as far back as possible his mind kept on circling around the things Castiel had said, implicitly or not, and the silence that followed in their wake.

_Will I be allowed to redeem myself? Will you offer me comfort? Isn’t it funny to be on the receiving end of being treated like a child?_

_I am looking out for you. You will always be welcome._

_You will always be wanted._

Dean looked up into the sky, dark and stormy looking now, and stopped. He heard Castiel move a few steps further, until he noticed Dean no longer following.

“Are you tired?” Castiel asked, walking back up to Dean, but he kept his distance, his expression guarded. Dean hated it, hated what kind of mess they’ve made of themselves. With Castiel being an angel and the circumstances surrounding his appearance in Dean’s life, they had always been at odds. But they’ve managed to make it work, shakily but in the end Dean had so fast come to rely on and trust in Castiel.

Must they always fail? Are they truly always going to end up shattered and broken?

When Dean didn’t reply, Castiel turned his head this way and that, then he walked over to Dean. Dean saw him reach out his hands, careful and slow.

“It is not the best idea to rest here where there’s no shelter at all,” he told him carefully.

“I can walk,” Dean grit out, but he grabbed for Castiel’s wrists as he pulled away. Castiel widened his eyes in surprise, but he didn’t try to move, not closer, not further away. He just watched and waited for Dean to do anything.

“I’m sorry for making you angry,” Dean said, his voice low because this was difficult to do. Castiel stared at him, blankly at first, before he lowered his eyebrows in confusion.

“I’m not angry, Dean,” he replied and Dean gave his wrists a squeeze.

“Then I’m sorry for disappointing you,” he corrected and Castiel’s wrists suddenly felt heavier in Dean’s hands and Castiel’s shoulders sagged. He seemed equally puzzled and shaken. But Dean knew he was on the right path now, not that this made him feel any better.

He still remembered Castiel’s anger and his willingness to rather die than see Dean give himself up to Michael. He remembered the look of pain and betrayal right there in the ring of fire. With Death raised as a weapon to kill him when Raphael’s blade had failed. He remembered seeing it many times, small, guarded and easy to miss. Dean had let Cas down, again and again and still it was always Cas that apologized afterwards.

“I…,” Dean started, then he shook his head and let his eyes roam over the empty landscape around them and then focusing on Castiel alone. “Don’t want this to happen…”

“The Flood?” Castiel asked slowly, “Of course you-“

“No, that’s not it,” Dean interrupted him and let go of Castiel’s wrists to put one hand on his shoulder instead. “This… Traveling the world, trying to save humans business you’ve got going here.” Castiel widened his eyes slightly, puzzled. “It’s good. You’re doing the best you can and it certainly is far more and far better than any of us could do.”

“Dean, I don’t understand,” Castiel told him and Dean licked his lips, trying to find the right words.

“You’re all alone… I don’t like this. It should not have come to this,” he said, “and me turning away from you, or whatever I did… It shouldn’t have happened and you must have been disappointed that I’m such a jerk to just abandon you.” Dean took a deep breath and studied Castiel’s face for a reaction. The angel was staring at him, his mouth slightly parted but no sound passed his lips until he finally lowered his head. When he still didn’t speak Dean patted his shoulder. “So we’re gonna visit Frank and we’re gonna find future me. You’re trying to save the world and you don’t need to do it all on your own.”

Now a little laugh escaped Castiel and Dean saw him close his eyes, long lashes dark against his pale skin.

“I wish it were this easy,” he whispered, but then he lifted his head, face bleak despite the small smile on his lips.

“When are things ever easy between you and me?”

“True,” Castiel said thoughtfully, “you’re a pig-headed assbutt.”

“Yeah, whatever sweetheart,” Dean laughed and gave his shoulder another squeeze before he let go to stare off into the distance. “But I’m really starting to get tired.”

“There’s a building about 30 minutes away. Should I fly?” Castiel wondered but Dean shook his head.

“Nah, I’m good. Lead the way,” he assured him and Castiel nodded slowly, but then he grabbed Dean’s arm. Dean turned to look at him, eyebrow raised.

“Dean. Thank you,” Castiel told him and Dean grinned.

“It’s okay. Now get moving before I’ll make you carry me!” Castiel let go of him and started walking, Dean falling in step with him.

“I’ll save as much strength as I can. You’re quite heavy,” he teased and Dean snorted. Castiel’s back still looked too small, but at least his step seemed lighter and there was a playful smile on his lips.

And Dean knew with terrifying clarity that he could tear Castiel down to the ground, shatter and scatter him. But he could also make him stand up tall and help him take flight again with nothing more than trust and a helping hand to push him forwards.

* * *

 

When they finally came upon the place Castiel deemed safe enough it had been at least another hour of walking. Dean was sweating by now, his throat raw and scratchy and his eyes burned. The air seemed to have no humidity at all, something Dean really found more than odd for an end-time that claimed to be the Flood. The ground was less dry grass and more pale dirt and dust. The building, a tower of sorts, terracotta colored in the foggy air, with unlit small windows, seemed to be the only landmark worth noting.

It wasn’t as if Dean could see very far with the bad haze and the sky a constantly darkening gray. But it seemed to be more and more of the same flat lands. No cities, no streets, no trees. A year into the Flood, Dean realized with an edge of dread, and the world was reduced to dust and dry air.

“What is this building anyway? It’s the only I’ve seen for quite a while apart from your nest,” Dean asked, but his voice came out raspy and he had to cough at the unexpected pain, not that it made it any better.

“It’s not a nest,” Castiel told him with a frown and put his palm on the door. “And maybe it’s best if you don’t talk.” Dean just grunted in reply, hoping to show his annoyance and displeasure in his facial expression. There was the sound of a lock spring open and when Castiel pushed the door he heard the rusty hinges loudly in the silence of their surroundings. “Some places were better protected than others. Everything manmade outside of the cities or proper defense gets destroyed.” Dean raised his eyebrow in confusion, following Castiel into the dimly lit interior. “The Leviathan leave a stain on the earth they wander, whether they want to or not. They get into the water, into the ground, into the vegetation. It causes erosion that might happen in centuries to take place within weeks.” Dean wanted to ask if this meant human civilization was fated to just turn to dust because of a couple of bastard monsters, but Castiel put his hand over Dean’s mouth. Dean wanted to feel offended, but the palm was cool and dry and soft, not like the hand of a guy in his mid-thirties had any business to be. Castiel had his eyebrows raised at Dean, willing him to keep silent and Dean exhaled loudly through his nose, the air hitting Castiel’s fingers.

When Castiel had released him and went to close the door, Dean took the time to look around. There wasn’t anything interesting to see. He had no idea what this place had served as, but now it was just a big empty hall with dull marble floors and plain white walls, all of them covered by multi-colored warding symbols.

“This belonged to a hunter a few years ago,” Castiel explain and when Dean turned he could see that Castiel had drawn on the door with white chalk. “It served as an outpost in the Outside to keep an eye on the city, but it had been abandoned three months ago in favor of going to the closest Dry Lands.”

Castiel turned away from the door, passing Dean in swift strides and aimed for a staircase going up. Dean was not averse to leaving this empty hall behind and climbed up the steps, even though his legs were hurting with the added strain. The upper floor was also dimly lit, but at least it wasn’t a gaping emptiness that greeted him. He saw a room filled with tables and couches and doors leading into Dean didn’t know what rooms. All the walls and the floors were still covered with symbols and there were more stairs leading up.

“It housed about 30 people before they left. I think this is a good a place as any to catch a bit of rest,” Castiel told him, then he motioned to the sitting area. “I will see if there is still water in the tanks. Rest for a while and drink.”

Castiel didn’t wait around for Dean to break his ban on not speaking, so Dean just snorted in annoyance and walked over to the closest couch. It was ugly and slightly dusty, but when Dean sat down it was comfortable enough for him to sigh to himself. He bent down to undo the laces of his boots and got them off. They might fit him well enough but after about 5 hours or more of endless hiking he had sore spots where they leather pressed too close to his toes and his soles felt like needles were stuck into them. He stretched out his legs, leaning back and pulling his bag close. He opened the flask to drink and ate the last of the sandwiches Castiel had prepared for him. There was still something about Cas mothering him – perfect sandwiches with the harder crust cut off and carefully filled with ham, bacon and eggs – that made him indignant and amused at the same time.

Now that he had a moment to himself Dean tried to listen for Sam, but when nothing came he took a gulp of holy water and tried speaking.

“Sammy? You there? Lunch break over here,” he said into the silence and surprisingly enough there was a faint echo.

_“… Idiot I was… special… doesn’t seem to… warding on your side”_ the last was apparently a question and Dean coughed around the pain in his throat before he tried to come up with an answer that might at least make sense.

“I can barely understand you, Sam,” Dean said, finishing the rest of his sandwich, wiping his hands on the fabric of the couch.

_“…hear… just fine...moment”_ Sam’s voice replied, distorted by all the static, but what Dean gathered from that was that whatever was wrong with their long-distance call was due to where he was.

“If you ask if there’s warding on my side then yes. I sit in some kind of hunter’s safe house right now and every wall and floor is covered in symbols,” Dean explained, toeing at a line of a symbol that he didn’t recognize and which might as well be a child’s graffiti.

_“Have… got…”_ Dean frowned as Sam’s voice got harder to understand.

“Sorry, Sammy! I didn’t get that?”

_“… what you… to collect…”_ Dean groaned in exasperation and for a while he heard nothing but ringing until he could make out a faint but clear _“blood”_ and _“Cas”_. Dean sat up straight, blinking in surprise.

“Cas’ blood? Sammy, what? Did you say Cas’ blood?”

Sam’s answer was totally incomprehensible and the almost angel-voice like ringing noise in his ears made him hiss. He couldn’t make out any words Sam was telling him and then it was silent again. Either Sam had given up on trying to communicate or the connection had broken off on its own. Dean hit his fist against the couch’s fabric in annoyance, then he lifted his head when he heard footsteps. He turned around and saw the angel carrying a closed rain barrel almost as tall as he was.

“Woah, Cas!” Dean called, despite the scratchy feeling in his throat and Castiel did send him a warning glare. “Don’t hurt yourself, buddy.”

“I’m an angel, Dean, I could lift a building if I wanted to,” he retorted and carried the rain barrel through a door on the other side of the room. Dean pulled the moccasins out of his bag, slipped them on and followed Castiel.

“What’s with you and your bragging?” Dean wondered in amusement, leaning against the doorframe of what turned out to be a spacious, but not all too clean toilet. Castiel huffed at him and pulled off the lid of the water barrel. As suspected, it was full of clear water. Castiel put his hand inside and a burst of blue light filled the room. Dean just had enough time to squeeze his eyes shut and he was still seeing stars when he opened them again. Stars and Castiel looking at him with an expression that was both shocked and sheepish.

“I’m sorry!” he said quickly and Dean blinked a few times, rubbing at his already hurting eyes. He felt Castiel grab his sleeve and he was dragged forwards, his knees hitting the plastic barrel. Castiel made him bend over slightly and soon enough there was a palm cupping cool water pressed against Dean’s closed eyes. “I usually don’t have company when I purify water…” The hand on Dean’s shoulder slipped down, a gentle pressure in the middle of Dean’s back and the hunter straightened, lifting his head away from Castiel’s palm, wiping his eyes and cheeks. Castiel still looked bashful, lowering his head and slipping out of the toilet. “I’ll get you a towel.” Dean looked at the door, rubbing his face, then he turned towards the sink. The mirror hanging above it was smeared with black swirls around the edges, but Dean still saw his reddened eyes.

“Why the hell is the air so dry anyway?” Dean wondered, turning away from the mirror and pulling his sweat soaked shirt over his head. His throat was still sore and choked some of his words, but Dean didn’t have the patience to try to express himself with nothing but body language. Cas might have gotten better at that with his constant exposure to humans, but he still didn’t trust him to get him.

“It depends on what time of the year it is and where you are,” Dean heard Castiel’s voice echo from somewhere outside and soon enough he reappeared in the door. “The wind will pick up soon and it might rain during the night.” Castiel had a towel and washcloth in his hands and he looked up at Dean. “So you better rest well before we go on.”

“Why? Angel air not flying when it’s raining?” Dean teased, taking the washcloth. Castiel rolled his eyes, putting the towel on the sink and grabbing Dean’s shirt, wrinkling his nose. Dean felt self-conscious about it. “What? Humans sweat,” he defended himself and Castiel looked up at him.

“I know,” he answered flatly, “I’ll get you another one.” With that he was gone again and Dean sighed before he devoted himself to the task of getting the sweat, dirt and dust off his skin. He must have missed Castiel coming in another time, because when he was done, the shirt from the settlement was next to the towel. Dean dried himself and pulled the shirt on before going back into the living room. Castiel was crouching on the floor, studying the contents of Dean’s bag without having taken anything out. He still looked like he was caught doing something naughty when Dean flopped down on the couch before him, combing his fingers though his damp hair.

“Are you hungry?” Dean shook his head. “Tired?” Another head-shake and Castiel was standing up before sitting back down next to Dean.

“I talked to Sammy shortly. But half of what he said got swallowed up again,” Dean started and Castiel frowned before turning his head to look at Dean. “How can this connection even work?”

“It depends on how you got here. Normally communication like this is not possible, but do you remember when you were dead and I contacted you?” Dean nodded tentatively. “I could only do that because I have a strong connection to your soul.”

“Profound bond, right?” Dean asked, unsure whether to joke about it or what it even meant. “And because you’re an angel.”

“Also because I’m an angel,” Castiel repeated, studying Dean. “You and Sam also share the closest bond human souls can achieve.” Dean felt rather embarrassed hearing something like that, not that he wanted to contradict it. “The perks of being soul-mates is that with the right knowledge and ingredients you can establish a channel. Apparently yours works like a telephone connection.”

“Crappy one,” Dean snorted in irritation, but Castiel shook his head, still focusing on Dean’s face.

“There‘s practice involved to make it work perfectly. And there are a number of things that can impair it. The fact that you two can create this bridge not only over spatial distance but also time speaks of how strong your bond actually is.” Dean kept silent, both touched and embarrassed at the same time, until he remembered that Sam had actually provided useful information.

“Sam asked me if there were wards over here. I think he meant to say that they disturb our connection or something.” Castiel nodded his agreement. “Maybe that’s why it didn’t work well when we were in settlements or your house. And it works best when I’m half-sleeping only that I cannot give sensible answers.” Castiel thought about that in silence and Dean started fidgeting. What had Sam meant with the last thing Dean was able to discern? Collect blood? And Cas? As much as Dean had wished to prevent it vivid images of that strange dream of him driving his knife into Cas’ chest appeared before his mind’s eye.

“Is there anything else-“ Castiel started, but Dean was already blurting out his thoughts:

“Sam said something about collecting your blood.” Castiel stopped talking at once, straightening up before he bent forwards, putting his hands on his thighs, eyes still focused on Dean with an intensity that made Dean squeamish. What if Cas could now read his memory of dreams as well? That one time of Anna walking into one of his (rather tame) fantasies had been awkward enough, he really didn’t need Cas to see himself bleeding all over Dean’s lap.

“My blood,” was all Castiel said, his voice flat and rough, his brows drawn down and Dean really, really was starting to get uncomfortable under the soul-searching stare. “Why would you want my blood?” Dean lifted his hands, a small shield against Castiel’s stare.

“I’m not sure, okay? Maybe I misunderstood. I just got _collect_ and, and…” Dean waved his hands, trying to remember what exactly he had heard, but he really couldn’t come up with anything else. “And _blood_ … and _Cas_ ,” he said and Castiel hummed to himself in contemplation, crossing his arms over his chest, one hand reaching up to rub his stubbly chin. Dean was glad to have the intense stare turned into puzzlement. “Can you make sense of that?”

“I am not sure,” he said and then the blue eyes were back at staring at him, clear and inquiring. “You seem nervous Dean.” Not at all what Dean had expected and he tried to feign nonchalance, shrugging with a “nah” but only got a glare for his efforts. Dean looked away and groaned, rubbing his forehead.

“It’s just… I recently had a dream where I kinda stabbed you with Ruby’s knife.”

“Oh,” Castiel said, but he just seemed to consider this for a while, “well, maybe you’re trying to recover your memory of what you’re meant to do here. Was there anything else?” Dean hit his palms against his face, before sliding them down in exasperation. He was sure if anyone had told him they dreamt of killing him he wouldn’t be that relaxed about it. And Dean had refrained from mentioning how the memory of lips and breath and warm blood against his skin made his insides knot with something between nausea and chilling anticipation. Even under Castiel’s inquiring look, that was not something he’d tell if he could help it.

“I don’t know. It didn’t make much sense. You looked like the other Cas, the hippie guy, and you got Ruby’s knife in your chest and I caught blood in Bobby’s flask.” Castiel frowned now, then he looked down to where Dean’s bag lay on the floor.

“Which is what you’ve brought with you,” he stated and Dean drew in a sharp breath. “You have the demon killing knife, you have a flask which I assume to be Bobby’s and I’m here too.” Dean squeezed his eyes shut, shaking his head and lifting one hand.

“No. Cas… Cas, that’s not,” he started, and opened his eyes to look pleadingly at Castiel who just seemed calm and collected. “I haven’t come here to kill you. Okay?”

“It’s not what I’m thinking Dean. I cannot be killed by that knife, no matter where you stab me and no matter how much blood you draw from me,” he told him and Dean vividly recalled driving Ruby’s knife straight into Castiel’s chest all those years ago.

“It would have,” Dean mumbled and Castiel looked at him in confusion. “The other Cas,” Dean explained, “you were human, it would have killed you.” Castiel’s eyes softened and he nodded, acknowledging the gnawing worry that spread through Dean’s chest. Just what had he come here for? Why an angel’s blood? Why did he have Raphael’s sword? What about the gold thread in the Colt’s case?

“If I took your blood back into my time,” Dean started, his eyes firmly fixed on his moccasin clad feet, “what use would there be to that? Also, why would I even go to the future and not to the past?” He looked up, studying Cas’ profile while the angel looked at the floor. “You’re dead, Cas…” Castiel moved his head just slightly and his eyes shifted, looking at Dean from the corner of his eyes. He didn’t say anything and swallowed, forcing himself to keep looking at the familiar face in front of him. “I… wanted you to come back… I believed you would, but I doubted… I think,” Dean said, rubbing his forehead and he smiled bitterly. “You’d probably call that faith, not knowing but still choosing to believe.” Dean turned his head down when he felt fingertips on his thigh. Castiel seemed hesitant but then he lowered his palm to Dean’s leg and looked up at him with his lips slightly parted. He wet his lips before he spoke, his eyes clear and shining but his face otherwise serious.

“Thank you,” was all Castiel said and Dean looked from the hand on his thigh to the gentle expression on Castiel’s face.

“Yes…,” was Dean’s not very eloquent answer to that and then he took a deep breath and blew it out again. “Uh… so what can angel blood do?”

“Nothing, actually,” Castiel replied, taking his hand away and Dean still felt the hand-shaped warmth even through his jeans. The angel was back to folded hands resting on his stomach and he stretched out his legs, crossing those at the ankles. He frowned and looked at Dean. “You don’t mean to drink it, do you?” Dean stared at him, then he made a face and recoiled. “Good. Angel blood might have minor purifying effects and it might be harmful to demons, but I have never tried.”

“Then why would we need it?”

“Because it might not be about angel blood,” Castiel mused and he lifted one of his hands off his stomach, watching it before turning it palm upwards and studying his wrist. “It might be about _my_ blood specifically.”

“What? A Leviathan-Angel cocktail?” Dean asked and Castiel slowly turned his head to the side, hitting it against the couch’s worn fabric and rolling his eyes up at Dean. “Yeah, okay, judgmental glare acknowledged,” Dean snorted, “in any case, I couldn’t have known about what you became.”

“I don’t know what you’d wish to do with my blood…” Castiel said and Dean heaved a sigh.

“But at least we can now guess what the mystery items are for. Well, apart from the angel blade, right?” He continued on, louder this time, when Castiel opened his mouth to protest, “Because the angel blade will not make you bleed blood, it just kills what’s inside of you.”

“It kills me, Dean. _I_ am inside of me,” Castiel told him, his tone slightly bemused. “An angel blade used to damage me greatly and it still does, but it doesn’t kill me now.”

“So,” Dean asked nudging the bag with his foot, hearing the clank of metal against metal, “we’ll just settle on the version where I came into the future in need of your blood for some sort of ritual?”

“If we settle on that version and don’t elaborate on it, then I’d say you are an idiot,” Castiel told him, a smirk playing on his lips when Dean glared at him. “Dean… Your previous argument about going into the past for that is not irrelevant. You couldn’t _know_ that I’d be alive…” Dean drew his hand through his hair, shaking his head.

“Yeah. Makes no sense,” he said and glared at his bag, as if intimidating it enough would make the items crawl out and spill their secret mission. In the end he sighed. “I guess we’ll have to get to that whatever it’s called and hope the soul-mate phone’s signal’s better.”

Castiel grinned at that.

* * *

 

Dean wished they would just get away from the outside as it was getting creepier by the minute. Grass only grew in sickly yellow patches, most of the ground was just dry earth, some hard and cracking, some dusty and giving way under his boots. A wind had picked up, the very first Dean had felt and even though he’d breathed in a sigh of relief when the dry and warm wind touched his sweat-soaked brow, he soon started to curse the dust it blew into his mouth and eyes. Castiel, who had forbidden him from taking off his jacket and had even made him pull the zipper as far up as possible, had given him a scarf to wear around his mouth. And even though Dean hated the girly pattern of swans and laces against a pastel blue background, it did its job of keeping the dust out of Dean’s lungs. It was getting harder to see and the sky was getting almost black even though it was still bright as daylight around them.

“Cas, can’t we just… fly?” Dean asked what seemed to be the tenth time. Around the fifth Dean’s voice had failed him, momentarily resulting in lots of coughing and another ban on speaking from Mama Angel, a ban Dean only broke to whine about sand in his shoes, sand in his underwear, sand between his teeth. Castiel seemed greatly unfazed by the wind even though the wind messed up his hair, turning it a sandy brown. He just kept walking on, slowing down when Dean did, but never stopping.

“I’m sorry, Dean,” Castiel replied and Dean had troubles understanding him with the wind hitting against his ears. “But we have to take this route… I still have to look for Dry Lands.”

“Can’t you look for Dry Lands when I’m soaking in the bath or something?” Dean asked, swallowing a few times around the lump in his throat. “Noah can wait for his dove for a day or two.” Castiel looked over his shoulder, frowning and Dean gave up.

“I could carry you for a while,” Castiel suggested and Dean was still hunter enough to bristle at the thought of being carried around like a damsel in distress. Or a civilian.

“No way,” Dean hissed and heard Castiel snort in reply. Castiel’s face was far cleaner than Dean guessed his to be and then he held out his hand for Dean. “Not holding hands either.” Dean still grabbed it and Castiel pulled him close, linking arms. Dean’s eyebrows rose and he stared at Castiel’s arm around his, knuckles touching Dean’s upper arm. Castiel wasn’t looking at him, but focused on getting Dean a flask, readjusting his backpack in the process. Dean took it, rather confused, but when he had it on his lips he widened his eyes. There were dark feathers framing them, getting ruffled by the wind, but they didn’t let any dust touch Dean and even the strong wind felt like nothing but a warm breeze.

Dean had never seen actual angel wings and he assumed them to be like everything about the angels: not at all like how anybody pictured them. Castiel’s wings, physical and real, were not white and soft, but they were incredibly impressive, arching over and around them.

 “Oh, cool,” was all Dean said, looking at the feathery shelter in awe. Castiel seemed pleased and Dean didn’t mind how he kept himself pressed to Dean’s side. He lifted the arm not currently glued to Castiel and touched his fingertips to the feathers in front of his face. They trembled under his fingers, but didn’t move away. They weren’t soft or fluffy like Dean had expected, but maybe he was just touching the wrong ones. Castiel didn’t comment his childlike curiosity, but did make a small sound when Dean spotted some feathers in disarray, shinier than others with some feathers sticking together. Dean touched those and when he lifted his fingers to look at them they were wet with black gooey stuff. He turned to Castiel, who looked down at their feet. The feathers were bunching up around the rucksack and it must be at least somewhat uncomfortable, even when Dean saw that some feathers just passed through the rucksack.

“Can’t you clean them?”

“I do clean them… But every time I manifest my wings they burst through a thin layer of something inside of me that is…” he sighed at that, “Leviathan I guess.” Dean was silent, because what should he tell him?

“Well, even part leviathan, you’re a good guy, Cas,” he finally conceded and Castiel’s knuckles pressed into Dean’s upper arm almost painfully. Dean tried to move his arm but Castiel’s didn’t let him go, so Dean moved his hands and squeezed it in the tight space between Castiel’s rucksack and his warm back.

It felt alright. The wind was roaring, the dust whirling around them, but Dean was alright.

* * *

 

When the wind finally died down and the dust settled in a red and dirty yellow tinted haze, the Outside presented itself to Dean in a new manner. Cas shook the dust and black blood off his wings as if he’d prepare to fold up an umbrella after the rain and let go of Dean’s arm, his fingers curled loosely around Dean’s pinkie and ring finger.

For the first time since he got here, the world resettled in sharp clarity; they were standing on the outskirts suburbian ruins. He could see flat fields of cracked ground, a dust covered street running parallel to where they were walking. Telephone masts were still standing, looking like tree trunks without branches or foliage. Nothing remained of the houses but stone and rubble and dry grass.

It should be early evening by Dean’s somewhat unreliable sense of time, but it was still bright around them and he raised his face upwards, squinting against the strange light. A rust colored sun, like a blotch of dried blood, hung against an oily black sky. Cloudless, ominous and apocalyptic.

“I am…,” Dean started, struggling to tear his eyes away from the oily sky stretching above them, “finding it really difficult to imagine people still living on earth.”

“You saw that they do…” Castiel said, finally letting Dean’s hand go and walking on ahead. Dean was forced to follow and after some time he could see tall shape stretching upwards in the distance. He widened his eyes when he saw the sky over there being a pale evening red. “That…”

“That’s a Compound,” Castiel explained, falling back to accommodate for Dean’s slowing pace, “a city. The walls go all around it, but it’s not impossible to leave or go inside.”

“So we’ll go inside?” Dean wondered, “I wouldn’t say no to a bit less of,” he lifted his arms, looking up at the black sky, “ _this_.”

“Absolutely not,” Castiel replied sharply. “We are already too close; I do not want to alert the Leviathan to your presence.”

“Well, that makes sense I guess, but then why _are_ we so close?” Dean asked, but Castiel had apparently flown to his own little world, completely ignoring Dean in favor of looking around. It was difficult keeping up with Castiel’s swift pace, especially now that Dean was tired from an entire day of walking. So coming across a particularly inviting rock Dean sat down and stretched his legs, heels of his boots digging into the dirt. He still had a flask full of water and he took a few greedy gulps, wiping his mouth on his girly scarf, before he rubbed his hands over his face. His palms were dry and dirty, but so was his face. He could still see Castiel, his wings rising above him, but the guy was moving further away and slipped behind a pile of rubble.

Dean doubted that he’d find anything worthwhile so close to a city, not that Dean knew how this entire Dry Land business worked. He looked up, studying what he could see of the high walls rising in the distance. He wondered what city it was and how it worked under leviathan control. Were the people going on with their lives just like before? Unsuspecting of what was going on? Or was it chaos in there with the fear of being the next to be eaten a constant companion? Just the thought of Dick Roman having won made his insides burn with rage and he had to grit his teeth.

He looked up when he heard Castiel calling. He got up, rolled his shoulders, but when Castiel shouting for him got more frantic, he replied:

“It’s fine! I’m here!” Castiel appeared some meters away, dashing out from between the ruins of houses and even from the distance Dean could see how wide his eyes were. He changed his pace to a light jog and Castiel was frowning at him sternly, his wings spread out behind him, tall and huge and Dean felt intimidated by them. “Hey! Dude, chill out! You’ve been too fast for me! I don’t have angel stamina!” Castiel’s anger seemed to disappear at that and he lowered his head. The wings seemed to do the same, all the tension leaving them and they drooped down, suddenly seeming a lot smaller. Still awe-inspiring, but less likely to slap Dean for the next best stupid thing he said. “Don’t worry. I would have shouted if something had happened. So, you found anything?” Castiel still seemed tense about losing sight of Dean, but put his hands into the pockets of his jacket and nodded his head towards the city.

“I was just making sure that nobody had fled from the city into the surrounding dead lands.” At Dean’s raised eyebrow he continued to explain: “Everything within a 10 kilometer radius of a Compound is practically a death trap for living beings, humans, animals, plants. If people leave the city without taking proper precautions, which means they leave without organizing it with a hunter so that I’ll be able to pick them up at the next outpost, the likelihood that they die is very high.”

“And you just guide me right through one of these dead lands?” Dean asked with a deep frown.

“You are a seasoned hunter, Dean.” Which was a very valid argument as far as Dean was concerned and he shrugged. “Let’s get to the Settlement for the night,” Castiel suggested, then he pulled off his rucksack. “I’m a bit… tired,” he confessed and Dean took that to mean he should carry the bag. It was even heavier as the one time he had had to hold on to it for the duration of the flight. Dean looked over his shoulder where Castiel was rubbing his forehead, obviously in quite a bit of discomfort.

“You okay?” he asked, letting the rucksack drop back down to the ground.

“Yes… Just an annoying… headache,” he said and sighed deeply, drawing his hands down the sides of his head and rested them on the back of his neck. He closed his eyes and breathed evenly. Dean watched him for a while and then he understood what Castiel had meant.

“It’s fine by me,” he said and Castiel cracked one eye open, which made Dean a bit uncomfortable. “I told you before; you need to shift, you shift.” Castiel opened both eyes, studying Dean, but the hunter just nodded instead of saying more on the topic.

The transition was just as smooth as last time, as if Castiel had tricked Dean’s brain into thinking he’d been a woman all along even though Dean knew that wasn’t the case. She rolled her head, kneading her knuckles into her neck, then she sighed and the wings spread out behind her.

“Where’s that settlement anyway?” Dean wondered as Castiel stepped closer to him, raising her arms already.

“Closer to the coast,” was all Castiel said and Dean snorted at the lack of useful information, then Castiel’s arms were around his stomach. “Same as before. Draw in your knees and do not lower them before we land.” Dean wasn’t sure if he should feel awkward with having her breasts (she wasn’t wearing a bra, Dean’s mind helpfully supplied) pressed against his back. It wasn’t… unpleasant –she was warm and soft and smelled nice. “Hold tight.” Dean picked the backpack up, pressing it to his chest where Castiel’s hands were holding on to his shirt. And then they were up in the sky again, gaining height fast. Dean forced his eyes to stay open and he looked over the suburbs and the town in the distance. Just before it sped away Dean saw that it was just a perfectly normal city, skyscrapers, office buildings, traffic lights and all. Even part of the suburb had made it into the walls. Then the colors of a fast changing scenery rushed by him and he closed his eyes.

* * *

 

This time, flight wasn’t as scary. The wind blew against Dean’s face and he heard the howling of it mixed with the beating of wings, quick at first, then slower as they soared through the sky. Castiel still smelled of sweets and olives and even though her body was a soft pressure against his back, her arms were strong and Dean didn’t worry about falling this time.

“Brace yourself,” Castiel warned and Dean felt the descent but refused to open his eyes, “okay, draw up your knees. Wait. Wait…” The flapping of wings was louder now but they landed gently. “Okay. You can stand.” Dean put his legs on the floor and opened his eyes. They were standing on a grass field and in the distance was a fence, then some trees. The sky here didn’t look like oil, but was a dirty grey with the same rust red sun. Castiel had stepped away from Dean, but her hands were still on his shoulder blades.

“Cas? Are you okay?” She just grunted in response, but then she stepped around Dean and grabbed the rucksack out of his hands. Her wings folded up, then they suddenly lost their clarity, blurred and bled out of existence. He stared at her stained jacket in silent awe, but followed her across the field when she walked away. The air here was still stale and the sky overhead felt oppressive, but it was a big improvement from the place they’d been before. Castiel climbed over the low wooden fence, graceful but slow and Dean swung his legs over it. He caught up with her and studied her. She had her eyes squeezed shut, but still steered herself effortlessly past trees and bushes. Dean didn’t know what to say to her and just watched her with concern, glad when a high metal fence came into view. Through it he could see cabins of some sort; it must have been the settlement. A handful people were about and Dean whistled to catch someone’s attention.

“Little help?” he called when a guy with a gun came towards them. He didn’t know where the entrance was and while Castiel led him along the fence he wasn’t entirely sure how well she really functioned with her eyes squeezed shut.

“I’ll let you in!” the guy called, pointing in one direction before hurrying away. Dean grabbed Castiel’s arm and met little resistance when he pulled her along him.

“Okay Cas, come on. I bet they have some aspirin for you,” he tried to encourage her and she came silently. The guy with the gun held open a door, rather small for an entry and only secured by iron chains and a lock. Dean was sure he’d be able to pick it in a second, or just climb over the fence or push himself through one of the barely fixed holes he could see some way off.

“Hi, I’m Dean, do you have-“ Dean introduced himself to the guy, but Castiel finally lifted her head, focusing her attention on the guard. He straightened instantly.

“I’ll have someone prepare your cabin for you,” he said, then he turned to Dean, “if you’re with her then you’re very welcome to stay. Peace be with you.”

“Thank you,” Castiel said, then she walked away. Dean gave the guy a thumbs up, then he followed Cas. This settlement was very different from the other. It was inside a forest, the floor muddy and covered by fallen leaves and plants growing everywhere. The cabins were small constructions, built on a stone foundation but the rest was an assortment of different planks of wood. It looked as if they were made of whatever had been around at the time. Castiel was following what seemed to be the main road of this settlement around which all the cabins were arranged until they got to a bigger building. It stood on a corner where the street branched off into a smaller side street leading further into the wood. The building had two stories and through the small windows light was pouring out into the twilight. There was a sign over the door that read “Blue Cat” with the peeling paint of a blue cat shape winding itself around the black B and wires extended from behind the sign to other buildings. It seemed to be a bar of some sorts and from the looks of it there was electricity. Castiel walked up the steps and pushed the door open. Dean followed and looked around the new location; it was definitively a bar and a few people were sitting around tables or at the bar itself, chatting among themselves. Nobody paid him any attention, not that he minded. It was easier not to draw suspicion if he was allowed to keep to himself. A man around Dean’s own age, slight in built and with well-groomed brown hair looked up from behind the bar and grinned at him. He was cleaning a glass, but put it down and beckoned him near.

“Hi, I’m Tom!” he introduced himself to Dean, holding out his hand with a cheery grin. “And you are?” The barely concealed flirty tone caught Dean off-guard and he sent Castiel a look, but she was leaning against the counter next to where he sat, forehead in her palms.

“Uh, Dean. Hi. I’m, uh… with… her,” he said by way of defense against the hand that squeezed his just a bit too much and a bit too long. Tom didn’t react to Dean’s attempt to discourage being flirted with, he merely turned around to the shelves stacked with various bottles.

 “From the look of you it must have been rough getting here. You probably want a drink, right?” Dean wanted to decline, because he wanted nothing more than a shower and a bed, but Tom was already grabbing a random bottle off the shelf and filled a glass. “Welcome drinks are always free.”

“Tom.” It was Castiel this time and she sounded immensely tired or hung-over or possibly both. Tom looked at her and when she lifted her head a silent exchange passed between them. He nodded. “I’ll be right back, Dean,” she told him and Tom put his hand on Dean’s shoulder before Dean could jump up and follow.

“So, why don’t you tell me something about yourself? What Compound are you from, Dean?” Dammit Cas, she shouldn’t leave him alone like this! What should he be telling those people? Maybe he could try and fake amnesia or something.

“Don’t really have a home,” he said carefully and Tom sighed, patting his shoulder empathically. If he was looking for Dean to spill his sorrows onto the counter top for him to wipe up with his towel, then he was bound to end up disappointed. “Sorry, where’s the toilet?” Dean wondered before Tom could start with another question. “Long journey, not many pit stops,” Dean clarified as if Tom cared about that. The barkeeper, or whatever he was, just nodded his head towards the door Castiel had disappeared through. “Great.” Tom smiled at him, then Dean was out of his seat and through the door. He found himself in a hallway, a sign with “toilets” pointing to the left, but he caught the scent of olive oil and slowly went into the other direction. Maybe Cas just needed a moment to herself, but he was worried about the signs of physical discomfort. Castiel was leaning against the wall of a little niche at the other end of the corridor, turned away from him, with a receiver pressed to her ear and winding the cord around her fingers. A working telephone, Dean was actually surprised.

“Just stop trying to summon me!” she spat into the mouthpiece. She still sounded tired, but he wouldn’t be too eager to be on the other end of this phone call. “Or praying for me.” There was silence only for a second before she went on: “stop calling me that. I am not interested in your offer.” Dean was seriously confused by the one-sided conversation he was listening in to. And wow, that was a first; him eavesdropping on Cas? He felt immensely bad about it for some reason, especially as this seemed to be rather private, but he was curious. Cas keeping secrets was not something Dean was overly fond of, but the guy – girl-shaped guy, whatever – did have his own life now. A life Dean had apparently cut himself out of, so he really had no business being suspicious about Cas’ secret telephone conversations. “No, I didn’t think what you did in Shanghai was _romantic_. Please stop being so dramatic.” Dean widened his eyes. “I’m going to hang up now.” And Castiel did, slamming the receiver down on the phone and massaged her forehead. “What, Dean?” Dean gave a start, internally cursing himself for not leaving when he had the time. But who was he fooling? Cas probably had known he was listening all along. So he walked up to her and also leant against the wall, shoulders brushing.

“Nothing, just getting out of this Tom’s therapeutic question and answer session,” he said and Castiel turned her head towards him, smiling slightly. “So,” he started, “overeager admirer?” Castiel sighed deeply.

“Sort of,” she replied, then she rubbed her hand over her face. When Castiel turned to look back up at Dean, he’d changed back. “It’s difficult upholding this form when someone’s constantly screaming inside of your head.”

“Don’t do it for me,” Dean reminded him, worry making his forehead crease, “I mean it.” Castiel rolled his eyes upwards and Dean got another view of his clear blue, intense stare.

“I appreciate your effort to accept my new physical form. It must be strange,” he said calmly and Dean shrugged, crossing his arms over his chest.

“I’ve seen stranger,” he told him, grinning. “I’ll manage,” he promised. Castiel was studying him and in the end his lips pulled up into a small smile.

“You seem rather eager all of a sudden,” he teased and Dean rolled his eyes, not losing his grin.

“It’s been a while since I last had breasts pressed to my back,” he said and Castiel huffed a laugh. “Nice breasts by the way. Squishy without a bra.” Jesus, what was he blabbering? Castiel didn’t seem to mind at all, his small smile turning into a pleased grin.

“Thank you. But I _do_ look good in lingerie,” Castiel assured him, patting his flat chest, and Dean burst out laughing. Absurd conversations with Castiel had not been something he’d been expecting to have anytime soon, but it was… welcome. Very welcome.

The ensuing silence was light and relaxing. Until Tom came poking his head into the corridor, looking what was keeping the two of them.

“Hey Dean, your beer’s getting warm. And Thea said the cabin’s ready.” Tom’s eyes slipped past Dean and took in Castiel’s changed shape. He didn’t comment it but with an approving smile Dean had half a heart to punch off his face. Castiel nodded and they went back into the bar, where more lights had been switched on and the chatter was a bit louder. Tom tried to get Dean to talk about himself, but Dean busied himself with downing the beer and Tom seemed to be better equipped to listen in on conversations than trying to get them going. The beer really was lukewarm already, but it was the first alcohol he’d had since crash landing in 2014 and he’d gulped down worse.

“We’re just staying for the night,” Castiel replied when Tom got backup on the good sides of their settlement (which seemed to center around electricity and the bar) by an eager guy sitting next to Dean. Tom did seem slightly disappointed, but then he grinned, a mix of mischief and amusement.

“Oh? So you weren’t joking when you said you were with her?” he wondered, eyes firmly on Dean, just jerking his head in Castiel’s direction. His avoidance of making eye-contact with Cas or calling him by name did strike him as odd. Dean didn’t come up with a witty retort on the spot, so Tom felt justified to continue. “Isn’t that against some kind of moral codex?”

“Dude, you don’t know angels,” Dean told him with a snort, then he tapped his finger against his glass. “Thanks for the drink by the way.”

“She’s the only one I’ve met. She doesn’t talk about anything but business, and I still find it difficult believing that she’s one.” Tom sounded both reluctant to talk about Castiel but still interested to get his hands on a bit of insider angel knowledge. Castiel was keeping silent, but Dean snorted. Then he smiled and got up.

“Well, you better do, he’s about the only person that hasn’t forsaken humanity yet,” he said and grabbed Castiel’s upper arm, to pull him off his stool. Dean felt the short resistance and for a moment is was completely impossible of moving Castiel an inch, but then he relaxed and let himself be pulled. “Nice talking to you, Tom.” Castiel apparently felt no reason to protest the swift departure and they were out in the open in no time.

Night had fallen quickly and Dean could see the street illuminated by light bulbs fastened over each cabin’s door. It wasn’t chilly, but with the night had come a drop in temperature and a wind carried with it forest scents and rain.

“Why are you angry?” Castiel wondered, pointing down the main street to where Dean guessed his cabin was located. “You didn’t need to defend me.”

“Doesn’t it piss you off? He talked like you weren’t even there!” Dean argued hotly, unsure why this now rubbed him the wrong way. “And the last settlement wasn’t any better! They don’t look at you properly, they don’t touch you. Heck, they don’t even call you by name!”

“I’m not human Dean... They only put up with me because they need me to help them…” Castiel replied evenly, but Dean could hear how his voice was lower than usual and he wondered what emotion he concealed.

Dean was looking for a proper retaliation as Castiel led them to the very end of the road, where a little cabin stood. There was no light over the door and it stood in complete darkness, the branches of a tree hanging low enough that the leaves touched the slightly slated wooden roof. “Maybe you’re not human, but you’re an angel!” he finally said to break through the constantly augmenting tension the silence caused, even though it was one of the dumbest arguments to come out of his mouth. Castiel apparently thought so too, if his blank expression was anything to go by.

“That didn’t make you trust me,” he stated, then he turned away from Dean and walked up the two stone steps. He opened the door and disappeared into the dark inside. Dean felt foolish, but he went inside once a light was switched on. And right on time too as fat rain drops started to fall from the sky.

The floorboards creaked ominously when Dean stepped inside and it smelt of wood and stale air like the windows haven’t been opened for weeks. The interior was one room that Dean could probably cross in three strides. It held nothing more but a low table with an old fashioned oil lamp on it that sputtered slightly when Castiel shifted it to the floor. The bed was old looking with an unadorned wooden frame, but the blankets and the pillow Castiel was putting on the thin mattress looked clean.

“Not trying to go for stereotypes here, but you do like… girly things,” Dean said, finally closing the door and getting out of his dirty shoes. Even though the cabin was incredibly Spartan it was actually impeccably clean. Dean felt even dirtier, the dust clinging to his sweaty skin and he caught himself wishing to be back in Castiel’s home, relaxing in the bath. Castiel looked up, still bent down, palms flat on the bed, then he turned his head to study the covers. They were white with pale blue flower and ribbon patterns.

“I’m using them because I have them. What patterns would you choose, Dean?” Castiel wondered and sat down, pulling at the laces of his shoes.

“I’m not complaining, man, I’m just trying to figure you out,” he said and tried to shake off as much dust as he could. Deciding that nothing but a shower should properly help the situation he looked around for a place to sit on. Castiel patted the space on the bed next to him and even though the bed was big enough to accommodate both of them, Dean felt a bit self-conscious sitting down.

“Why do you need to figure me out, Dean?” Castiel wondered idly, pulling off his boots too, socks following. For some reason this made Dean feel nervous all of a sudden because even though they were just feet, Castiel seemed… naked. This time was getting to him. Cas was getting to him. Again. “While I appreciate the sudden interest, it will not benefit you much…” Dean frowned and Castiel drew his legs up onto the mattress. To Dean’s silent inquiry he answered: “because you’ll leave soon. It’s pointless.” Dean’s face fell and he struggled to find something to say.

“It’s not for me…,” he finally said, his voice low, then he looked up to find Castiel staring at his hands, fidgeting inside of his lap. “I’m sorry, Cas…” Castiel swallowed at that, a sound foreign and loud and nervous.

“It’s not your fault…” he reminded Dean, his voice calm as usual, but there was something immensely vulnerable in the way Castiel was drawing up his knees to his chest, arms wrapping around them. “I don’t want _you_ to apologize for _this_.” Dean hesitated for a moment, but then he leaned back against the wall, sighing loudly.

“But you do want me to apologize,” he said into the silence. The lamp sputtered again, sending flickering light and shadow across Castiel’s face. But he was silent. This did not need an answer, Dean knew. “You want me to apologize to my time’s you. And you want this time’s me to apologize to you.” Castiel narrowed his eyes, opening his mouth to speak, but it took a moment before he finally turned his head to Dean.

“No, that’s not all there is to this…,” he said and it felt strange and good at the same time to have Castiel’s penetrating stare directed at him. “I wish...,” his voice broke on that word – _wish_ – and Dean was shocked to hear it and to see Castiel bury his face into his arms. He didn’t mumble anything into his arms, as if for some reason words that couldn’t be heard by Dean were not meant to be spoken. The silence and Castiel’s posture spoke volumes on pain and desperation. Dean didn’t want to think, because thinking would make him hesitate, it would make him doubt what he was picking up on, so he didn’t. He just reached out, curled his fingers around Castiel’s shoulder and pulled. Castiel came easily, like a child turning into a parents’ protective warmth, fitting himself in the arm Dean put around him. Instead of pressing his face into the crooks of his own arms, he now pressed it against Dean’ shoulder.

“Apologies will change nothing. I know…” Castiel said, his breath warm and damp even through the cotton of Dean’s shirt. “I wish you would have tried to understand.” He then sighed and fidgeted a bit. For a moment Dean thought this was when Castiel would put the cold distance of time and betrayal between them again, but he only wrapped his arms around Dean’s middle, resting his cheek against Dean’s shoulder.

Dean watched him, saw how his eyes were slightly open, gazing from underneath long lashes at the flickering light of the lamp. Dean sensed a burn in his chest, slowly and numb at first, but it continued to spread until he felt like he was suffocating. Castiel blew out air through his mouth, slowly, the exhalation of air a gentle sound. “But it didn’t matter… whether you listened or not… you had made up your mind. Both of us had.” Dean didn’t have the heart to reply, because he feared that Castiel was right… What’s done has been done, the only thing that was left to do was pick up the pieces, now that Dean had realized that there was still something _left_ to fix.

But not here. Not _now_. But even though it was pointless and this time was not quite real, didn’t mean that they could not draw strength and comfort from this.

“I’m here now Cas…,” Dean said and felt Castiel shift again, letting go of Dean’s waist – warmth Dean immediately missed. Castiel looked up and Dean gave him a small smile. He wasn’t sure what Cas needed or what he wanted from Dean (his Dean, not him). He had sent little signs his way though and while Dean couldn’t be the one to accept Castiel’s attempts at redemption or give him that apology for his abandonment, he was here now. A physical presence Castiel lacked, a physical presence Dean was now quite sure he needed. But he was here. They were here and Cas was warmth and recovered familiarity and sweetness mixed with olives. Dean spoke before he had entirely thought it through: “It’s probably my last night in 2014 for a while, so maybe-“ Unexpectedly, Castiel huffed at that, shutting Dean up with the sound.  Castiel reached up with one hand, letting it hover over Dean’s chest. Dean felt his insides warm up, pushing away the dreadful burn and replacing it with something else, something quicker and harder and he licked his lips as Castiel studied his face with care. Then the angel frowned and smacked his lips and it sounded like kissing, before he pressed his fingers to Dean’s forehead. Dean only had a split second to be surprised before a comfortable blackness engulfed him.

* * *

 

He heard the sound of rain and the wet dragging, scratching noise of foliage and branches against the cabin’s exterior. He knew he was inside, but the ceiling stretched up high above him – so far out of reach – painted pale grey with dark clouds moved by a wind he didn’t feel. He heard the rain, saw it splattering against his cheeks, his lashes, he saw it rolling down the thorny branches around him, nourishing the earth but there was nothing but a slight chill. The bed he lay on smelled of the sea and candy and it was grass, low trimmed but still wild, with rose bushes framing the sky on one side like a halo.

He tasted gun powder, ash and blood in his mouth when he breathed, white puffs of air swirling upwards against the ceiling that was no ceiling after all.

“There will never be answers,” a familiar voice spoke, but it was deeper, resonating with another layer of whispers underneath it, “if you do not care to ask the right questions.” Dean wanted to move his head, but felt that he couldn’t. It was as if someone had a firm grasp around his neck. “You are broken things,” the voice continued and the dry scent of ash was overwhelming, entering through his nostrils, scratching and burning. “ _We_ are broken things.” The face of Sam appeared in the sky, upside down and framed by thorns and shockingly red roses. Sam closed his eyes, smiling benevolently and when he opened them again he also opened his mouth. A trail of smoke and ash escaped it, then blood slid down his lips, a steady thin stream that touched Dean’s forehead. Connecting them with a line of blood. The white suit he wore was stained red in the middle of his chest, bright blue light spilled from the wound in a slow heart-beat rhythm. “Still, we are here. Again, Dean.” Lucifer closed his mouth, stopping the flow of blood, then he moved and Dean could see the sky once again. He felt warmth against his side, Lucifer lying down in the grass next to him. He wasn’t cold, like he had said years ago – he was warm, like Sam, a comfort, like Sam. Lucifer slipped his palm into Dean’s, holding on and watching the sky. It was almost peaceful – brothers watching shapes in the far away clouds.

“Do you still believe that your actions make a difference?” The man wearing Sam’s face asked gently, “how did you defeat me, Dean? Righteous, glorious human. Do you remember? Do you even still remember what _can_ make the difference?”

Dean felt the sharp burn of tears in his eyes as Lucifer inched closer, resting his head against Dean’s shoulder.

“We are broken things,” Lucifer repeated, “we were _made_ incomplete.” Dean felt the tight squeeze of Lucifer’s fingers against his hand. “You may shatter us. You may end us. But you may not abandon us.” Lucifer’s voice hurt Dean’s ears, the second frequency getting louder, distorting Lucifer’s voice but his words were still painfully clear.

“Sammy,” Dean managed to whisper.

“Yes, but we do not have much more time, Dean.” Lucifer’s voice changed and it was Sam. Dean finally realized that he was dreaming, or rather in the process of waking. Lucifer was still lying next to him, holding on to Dean’s hand with their fingers laced together. But he could hear Sam now even though it was Lucifer’s mouth brushing against Dean’s shoulder when he spoke. “It’s exhausting to keep this connection up. If I lose you then I don’t know if I can get you back. Just be ready, we’ll pull you back on time. Just don’t do anything stupid.”

Dean wanted to ask “Like what, Sammy?” or “What do I have to do here?” but the sky above was turning darker, the sound of rain louder and the air was filled with the scent of the sea, stormy and salty.

* * *

 

Dean awoke with a heavy feeling in his chest, exhausted and frustrated. The room was dark and there was light neither from the lamp nor the curtain-less windows. It was slightly chilly and Dean noticed that the girly blanket was half thrown off his body. The space on the bed next to him was empty and cold. Dean should not have expected anything else and at first he didn’t even understand why this realization was jarring. Then he recalled Castiel and his two finger solution to Dean’s potentially disturbing advances. Dean reached up to rub his face in irritation with himself.

“Cas?” he groaned, lowering his hand from his eyes to look around, but the guy was not in the cabin. Dean propped himself up on his arms, turning to the side. Castiel’s backpack was still in the room, so was the lamp even though it was not burning. Dean sat up and swung his legs over the edge of the bed. This time Castiel had not undressed him, thank God, but he was not wearing his jacket, nor his socks. The jacket was lying on the foot of the bed, half-covered by the blanket. Dean pulled it towards him, putting it on, then he got up and took the moccasins out of his bag. He was still groggy from sleep, itching because of the dust, thirsty and hungry when he stumbled through the dark, but the question of where Cas had flown off to was more important than going back into the disturbing dreamscape his mind kept up conjuring for him. A part of him felt very apprehensive of the fact that he might have scared Cas off by being too pushy. Dean didn’t even know why it had seemed like a good idea at the time. Well, he could just say that it was nothing more than his usual teasing and he was pretty sure Castiel would buy that. Heck, maybe Castiel had assumed as much in the first place. Not that Dean had wanted Cas to think he was just teasing him.

Whatever it was, Dean still felt like a jerk. So he pulled open the door and got a spray of rain into his face. Dean had no idea what time it was, but it seemed like early morning, still before dawn. He couldn’t see much through the rain and the fact that all the light bulbs on the cabins had been switched off didn’t help much. Maybe Cas was on the phone again, maybe he was doing great and important things, braving the storms out here while humans cowered in their wooden shelters.

“You’ll catch a cold, like this.”

Or maybe he was just sitting on the steps, staring out into the rain. Dean did a double-take, looking down to Castiel, crouching on the last step, completely drenched by the rain.

“What are you doing out here, man?” Dean wondered and walked down the steps.

“Watching the rain,” Castiel answered promptly, still not turning to look at Dean.

“I see that,” Dean said with a snort, shivering as the rain started running down his back. At least some kind of impromptu shower would get the dust off his face. “Why?” Castiel shook his head. Dean frowned at him for a while longer, then he bent down and grabbed Castiel’s upper arm. The angel didn’t protest when he was dragged back up the steps and into the cabin. Dean left him standing by the door and crouched down in front of the lamp. It took a few tries to get it lit. In the meantime, Castiel had closed the door, but he had not approached. Dean turned his head to look over his shoulder. The light cast deep shadows on Castiel’s face and he looked… exhausted. Dean took a moment to try to figure out why, because angels didn’t need to sleep. But, Dean recalled, Cas had said he needed rest and he did have an elaborate bedroom and carried around bed linen.

“You’re tired,” he finally observed and he was actually quite surprised at the realization. Then he got a bit angry. Castiel easily picked up on Dean’s grouchiness and lifted his hands in defense, but he didn’t say anything to contradict him. Dean made a gesture towards the bed. “Instead of watching the rain, you could have just slept!”

“You are ill at ease with the idea of my proximity,” Castiel argued and Dean had to roll his eyes, then he fixed a glare on Castiel. With what had happened – or not happened for that matter – just a few hours ago it should have made what Dean thought of Castiel’s proximity a bit clearer. After studying Dean for a while, Castiel heaved a sigh and Dean counted that as a win.

“It’s still night. Catch a few hours of sleep,” Dean told him, “I can keep watch.”

“There’s no need to keep watch,” Castiel told him, but he apparently was through with protesting, seeing as he went to open his backpack. Dean saw him pull out pajama pants and a t-shirt.

“Then I sleep too,” Dean retorted and Castiel said nothing in return. He wasn’t sure whether to look or not as Castiel changed, but the fact that he had at least hinted at some sort of sexual interest in him, he guessed it wasn’t that strange to observe. Castiel never had had much modesty to begin with and Dean didn’t even want to think about the other future Cas, but it was a bit hard to not go there while watching Castiel peel off the wet, clingy fabrics. With each piece that went and with each strip of skin revealed Dean started to feel more and more on edge. To him Castiel was that strange, ungraspable being squeezed into this nice and proper if slightly disheveled human. There was nothing ungraspable about him in the dim light of an oil lamp. Castiel was all unblemished, creamy skin pulled tight over a framework of delicate bones. Despite the perpetual stubble gracing his face, he seemed to be almost hairless and for a man his shoulders were too slim, his waist too narrow and his hips too wide. He was… eerily beautiful in a very strange androgynous kind of way.

“Man… You really need to eat more…,” Dean said trying to get over the dryness in his throat, watching Castiel pull on a shirt. “Was Jimmy that slim?” Well, Dean could at least pretend that Castiel’s weight was the problem here and not the way his body was shaped.

“No…,” Castiel replied calmly, shrugging his shoulders before he rubbed his hair dry on a towel he had pulled out of his rucksack. “It took me a while to figure out that I needed to feed and that my body would lose its substance if I didn’t…” He walked past Dean, sitting down on the bed. He looked pretty cozy now, like he was just getting ready for an evening of TV and pizza. Dean snorted, but now that he was conscious about the going to sleep bit he might as well get dressed for bed. While he was used to sleep in his clothes, it was far from comfortable. “Seeing as I kept changing shapes all of the time in the first few weeks I didn’t notice…”

“You don’t get hungry?” Dean wondered, sitting down on the bed as well, now that Castiel made space for him. It was rather strange to get in bed with someone, a dude on top of that. He had slept in the same bed as Sam occasionally, but it had never ended without bruising each other with elbows, knees, punches and kicks (and Sam insisted that Dean had a habit of rolling on top of him which was all lies).

“I do get hungry… Famished actually.” The words made Dean snap out of his thoughts and stare at the angel lying down. “Don’t worry… I haven’t really felt like eating humans yet…” He said it with a small teasing smile and Dean groaned deeply, lying down as well, facing Castiel. “Besides… I cannot get the likeness of Jimmy’s body right, no matter how I try… I know his body very well, on an anatomical level… But it seems that I have… never paid enough attention to the things that are really important…” Castiel cast his eyes down, looking at the mattress between them. Dean had never seen him that way, lying in bed, all unexplored lines and curves. And so beautiful in the shadows where the light didn’t reach. Dean could feel Castiel’s sweet breath, caramel and cream and cotton candy and what were they talking about? Dean leant in a bit closer.

“You smell like a sweets store,” Dean mumbled, but then he drew back, surprised at what had just impulsively left his mouth. Castiel was looking up at him with wonder and Dean had to cough embarrassedly. “Not really manly, Cas.” Castiel laughed at that, an honest, clear sound that made his shoulders shake and the skin around his eyes crease pleasantly.

“Are you trying to flirt with me?” he wondered, voice still full of laughter and Dean couldn’t even bring himself to feel all too embarrassed about it.

“Maybe?” Dean answered vaguely and Castiel smiled at him, leaning in a bit closer.

“You don’t smell too bad yourself,” he whispered, moist sweetness hitting Dean’s mouth, “for spending a day on the Outside and not getting a shower.” Dean rolled his eyes upwards and Castiel laughed, looking up at Dean, close enough to touch and be touched, but neither moved. “Would you really do it?” Dean, starting to feel drowsiness return to him now that he was wrapped in a blanket and olive and sugar warmth, quirked an eyebrow at him. “Have sex with me.” Now that got his attention quickly.

“I don’t know. I guess,” Dean answered with caution, looking Castiel in the eyes. “Are you asking?” The angel sighed, shaking his head slightly. Dean wasn’t sure whether to be discouraged or relieved.

“It’s not a good time,” he said after a while and Dean wasn’t exactly sure what he meant. However, it didn’t matter. “You know,” Castiel said when Dean had almost fallen asleep to the sound of rain and Castiel’s hypnotic even breathing. “You let me die a virgin after all. Twice.” The bleakness in this simple, joking statement followed Dean into sleep.

_You promised. You let me down._

* * *

 

The next time Dean woke it was to the low rumbling sound of faraway thunder and rain hitting the roof. There was faint light coming in through the windows and it was just enough to see. Dean guessed it to be early morning, but the rainy weather made it a bit hard to tell.

The bed dipped slightly as Castiel changed positions, turning from his back to facing Dean. Judged by his deep and even breathing he was still asleep. Dean turned his head, seeing how Castiel had a loose grip on the blankets, drawing them close to his chin, probably to keep warm.

Dean couldn’t help himself, huffing in amusement at how absurd this felt. Lying in bed with Castiel, feeling completely at ease. He reached out and flicked his fingers against Castiel’s long bangs covering his face. He wasn’t really surprised to see that Castiel had shifted overnight, probably most at ease in his female body.

Castiel sniffed loudly, then her entire body tensed and she cracked an eye open.

“Good morning, sunshine,” Dean said with a grin and Castiel’s eyes cleared up before she relaxed again.

“It’s raining, Dean,” Castiel muttered, frowning up at Dean. Dean snorted, biting back a laugh and gazed at Castiel. She did the same, merely watching, even as Dean lifted his hand, touching his fingers to her collar bone.

“Then maybe we shouldn’t get up… Angel air doesn’t fly in bad weather conditions,” Dean replied, his fingers gliding down. He followed the feather light traced path with his eyes, mesmerized. He felt smooth skin and bones and the soft fabric against his knuckles as his fingers slipped under the shirt, tracing the slight rise of her breasts.

“Dean…,” Castiel sighed, then she moved towards him and he had to take away his hand.

“Cas,” Dean started, her body pressed to his side, her warmth and intoxicating scent enclosing him. And then she was gone, climbed over his body and away from the bed, leaving cold empty spaces.

“I fly even if it rains. We need to be at _Raunacht_.” Castiel’s usual gruff voice made Dean turn his head, watching him get dressed. At Dean’s grim silence and displeased stare, Castiel frowned. “ _I_ need to be at _Raunacht_ , Dean,” he amended, but with no small measure of barely concealed displeasure.

“What’s the matter, Cas,” Dean started, sitting up, but making no attempt to actually get himself dressed as well. Castiel’s frown remained unchanged and he waited for Dean to continue. “Are you in such a hurry to get rid of me?” Castiel faltered in folding his shirt. He turned it around in his hands a bit, before he kneeled down and put it into his backpack.

“No… Of course not,” Castiel said, his voice silent and strained. He sighed and looked up at Dean, the sadness in his eyes startling him. “Why would I want you to go, Dean? You’re the only reason…” He broke off, shaking his head and getting up with a loud sigh, brushing his hair out of his face.

“Cas…,” Dean started and got up, repressing a shiver at the sudden loss of the blanket. “Sorry.” Castiel shrugged, then he lifted his arms to stretch, before he lowered them again to scratch at his stubbly chin.

“I have to go to the Office. Get dressed and go to the _Blue Cat_. Tom will tell you where to shower and get food.” He bent down again, before Dean could find something intelligent to retort, and pulled something out of the backpack’s side pocket. He inspected it and then tossed it to Dean, who caught it with ease and frowned down at it. It was a pale blue collapsible umbrella that seemed to have a lace and flying birds motif. Dean recoiled.

“ _Dude_.”

“It was a gift, Dean. Stop being such a pain in the ass about my possessions,” Castiel retorted and shouldered the backpack after putting some fresh clothes for Dean on the low table. “I’ll see you at the canteen.” Dean glared after the leaving angel, then he turned a venomous stare down onto the umbrella. It had black wings on its shiny white handle and a handwritten tag was still attached to it. Dean tore it off, but gave a surprised huff at the text written in black ink:

_“Black Dove, brave the Storm”_

* * *

 

Armed with the freaky umbrella and a change of clothes pressed to his chest, Dean hurried through the street. The rain had transformed the main road into a hazard of puddles and slippery mud and nobody that was outside seemed to be all too eager to dally. Dean had no idea where this settlement’s office was and he didn’t want to stop to ask anyone. He found the _Blue Cat_ easily enough and pushed his shoulder against the door with a grunt. His jeans were soaked at the hems and he was dripping muddy water over the bar’s entrance.

“Hey, Dean!” Dean looked up from shaking the water off the umbrella and saw Tom coming out of the door towards the back. The bar was still empty apart from a girl in her late teens cleaning the tables. She only gave him a passing glance and returned to cleaning. Tom had meanwhile walked up to Dean, grinning at him, far too cheerful this early in the morning. Not that Dean really knew what time it was.

“Tom, right?” Dean started, “look, Cas told me to ask you about a shower and breakfast.” Tom nodded, right away.

“Sure, I’ll show you where the communal baths are, just give me a second to put on my coat,” Tom started, but the girl interrupted him by noisily slapping the cleaning rag on the table’s surface.

“I can take him there. I’m meeting Mum at the canteen later,” she said, still sounding bored but Dean could see the glances she threw him. Tom apparently could too and huffed, his expression somewhere between amused and wary. She put her hands into her coat pockets, her damp blonde hair curling around her cheeks. “I’m done here, Tom.” Tom finally relented, picking up the rag.

“Fine,” he said and nodded at Dean, “I’ll see you later, Dean.” Dean wasn’t so sure of that, but he nodded and waved before picking the umbrella up from where he’d let it drop to the floor to dry. The girl walked up to Dean and tilted her head to study the umbrella.

“Nice umbrella,” she said, but sounded bored rather than teasing. Dean’s urge to roll his eyes was big, but in the end he just showed her a strained grin and opened the door.

“It’s Cas’,” he told her and raised the umbrella against the onslaught of the rain. The girl took the unvoiced invitation to huddle close to Dean. Judging from her damp hair and clothes she had come to the bar without an umbrella or raincoat. “What’s your name by the way?”

“Vi. Vivian,” she answered, “that way.” She pointed towards the small road that branched out from the main one and Dean started walking, Vivian keeping close. “Cas?”

“Castiel,” Dean explained and Vivian hummed in understanding. “I’m Dean,” he said when the noise of falling drops on the umbrella and the squelching of their boots in the mud was grating on his nerves.

“Yeah, I heard,” Vivian said, then she looked up at Dean without saying anything else.

“Something the matter?” he asked the girl whereupon she shrugged.

“Are you her boyfriend?” Vivian wondered after they had walked past some more small cabins. Dean frowned, looking at the girl. Thanks to years of being mistaken for Sam’s boyfriend he didn’t even react to the assumption anymore, but why Vivian had gotten that impression he had no clue at all.

“Why do you ask?” Dean wanted to know. Vivian averted her eyes at that, crossing her arms over her chest and drumming her fingers against her arms nervously.

“Well… I don’t know… You call her by name. A nick-name even…,” she said, sounding very young  und uncertain now that the boredom has left her voice.

“Cas and I are friends...,” Dean explained, “we haven’t seen each other in a while, but we were…” Dean was looking for an appropriate word. Close? Family? “Well. I’m not his boyfriend.”

“She’s a girl, Dean,” Vivian corrected him, sounding vaguely amused now. Well, better than her moping about. “Most of the time… I had heard the rumors that she can transform, but it’s still odd.”

“Well, he was a dude when we met and… lost touch… I don’t actually know what he is… You know… Behind the meat-suit.” He saw Vivian frown at the expression, but she didn’t say anything for a while. Dean spotted a flat roofed concrete building with small windows not too far away.

“That’s the communal bath. You’re lucky you’re early… You should still have warm water,” Vivian explained when they were making their way straight towards it. “Hey, Dean?” She asked when they were in front of the door, Dean handing her the umbrella. He lifted his eyebrows when she didn’t continue speaking. “Uhm… Is she… uh… _Castiel_ …” Vivian flinched slightly after having forced out the name, looking like someone that expected a dose of heavenly smiting. When nothing happened she continued in a lighter, but still shy tone: “Is she really an angel?” Dean looked at her in surprise, not having expected that question. He thought about what to say, but in the end he decided on the simplest and probably most welcome answer.

“Yes, Cas is really an angel. Wings and divine power and all,” he told her with a grin and Vivian bit her lips before she broke into a small smile too. “You’re gonna wait outside?” Vivian nodded and with a wave of the hand Dean went into the building.

It was damp and not entirely fresh smelling inside. There was a locker area against one wall and Dean got out of his muddy boots and placed them on one of the mats there. There were two other pairs of shoes and dripping coats. Dean had the disagreeable feeling of being watched and when he turned his head he could see a guy sitting on a chair in front of shelves and a table with a mug and some papers on it. It seemed to be some sort of reception area, but not as inviting as the one in the first settlement. The guy had his arms crossed and legs stretched out in front of him, looking bored but also menacing. Not unlike a hunter in his bulk and expression, Dean mused. He’d seen guys like this and the look he sent Dean’s way before.

“Uh, hi. I’m Dean…,” he started but the guy just grunted and got up from the chair. “I’m with…”

“The angel, I know,” the guy said and tossed Dean a small bag. “Stuff’s rationed, nothing for guys that are just passing through. But I’ve been told you’re to use the angel’s…” Dean pulled the bag open to peer inside. It held essentially the same as in the other settlement. Different brand but still olive scented shampoo and shower gel.

“He’s really into olives, isn’t he,” Dean muttered, unexpectedly receiving a laugh from the receptionist.

“Right? Always smelling like she just got home from a holiday to the Mediterranean,” he said and pointed towards one of the doors. “There’s the showers.” Dean thanked him and made his way to the shower room.

* * *

 

Dean was shivering when he had to step out of the communal baths again.

“Well, I’ve seen worse,” was what he said when Vivian looked up at him. She was leaning against the concrete wall, umbrella raised above her head.

“Duh, it’s a settlement, what did you expect? Five star hotel?” Vivian asked, not needing to be told how the water pressure was laughable, how there was mold forming between the tiles and that the lack of privacy was not endearing at all.

“It’s like camping… I hate camping,” Dean snorted, but it was not mean to be vicious. Luckily, Vivian mimicked the snort, shrugging.

“Me too. But as far as settlements are concerned, this one’s not half bad,” she said, then she looked up at Dean, handing him back the umbrella. “Incredibly boring, but there’s running water and electricity. Once a week we’re watching a movie.” She said that with such sarcasm that Dean couldn’t help the small smile. “You know, if you’re running for your life, of course you need to save your DVD collection. Well, can’t say I’m angry at the guy’s choice.”

“How long have you been here?” Dean wondered, following the girl back towards the main road. The rain had not yet eased up and the sky was dark and stormy even though it was a bit lighter around them.

“Couple of months? We’ve lived in a small town, not important enough to become a Compound, but the corruption still came… Some guys picked us up and we were brought to some sort of survivor camp… Then the angel came along about three months ago and guided us to this settlement… We’ve been here ever since.” Vivian fell into silence after explaining and Dean kept quiet too. “The things she told us…,” Vivian spoke up again, her voice coming out thin and shaking, “about… monsters and… and corruption and the Flood… and – and angels! It’s still ridiculous. It’s been a year since things started getting weird, but I still can’t believe it.”

“Well… I wish I could tell you something else,” Dean started and Vivian looked up at him with wide eyes, “but it’s true… Trust me… I’ve been dealing with that kind of crap for a long time…”

“Are you… an angel too, Dean?” she asked. Dean looked at her in surprise, almost stumbling in the mud.

“I’m not…,” he assured her, “I’m belonging to the same team as you.” Vivian smiled at that.

“I just don’t understand…,” she continued, “if there are angels then why aren’t they helping more? Everything Castiel ever does is travelling around. I thought they could do more than being messengers…” Dean didn’t quite know how to answer that question. Vivian’s expression changed to a pained frown. “This sucks… The world is going down the drain and God sends _one_ angel to collect us all in these stupid camps. But the Flood’s not stopping. The corruption’s not being healed.”

“Vivian,” Dean started and took a hold of Vivian’s wrist when she walked away from him, out from underneath the umbrella’s shelter. “Just wait.” The girl turned around, wearing a stubborn pout and glaring down at the soil. They were facing each other, the girl shivering in the cold and Dean was looking for the right words again. In the end he let go of her wrist and bent down slightly, to be on her eye-level. “Listen… I know this sucks… And I’m sorry that we haven’t been strong or fast enough to stop this before it had to happen to all of you… But Cas… He’s always been there, one of the only ones to care about us humans. He’s not a messenger, Vivian, he’s a soldier. _Angels_ are soldiers and even though their task is not to protect us, Cas still does.” Vivian looked at him first in confusion and then in surprise. “I know you want someone powerful – God, the angels - to just get rid of all the world’s problems for us. Trust me, I want it too. Nobody deserves this shitty situation, not you, not me. We don’t deserve to need to struggle like this. But we can’t wait for someone to do it for us… We need to go on fighting too, even if it’s just small things.”

“But Cas… if she’s an angel. If she has that divine power…,” Vivian pleaded, clearly looking for something to hold on to. “Then why can’t she kill the things that are tearing this world apart?” Dean sighed heavily and drew his free hand through his still wet hair.

“Okay, Vi, listen,” Dean said and the girl chewed her lips, her nose running but her eyes stubbornly refusing to shed tears. “Sometimes… even angels need to recover.” Vivian looked up at Dean, sniffing, the sound almost lost to the falling rain. “Something… very bad happened to Cas… And he was hurt… A lot of people were hurt… But he is still a soldier, so he returned to this battlefield even though he too wishes that someone bigger than him would just reach out and help.”

“God doesn’t help?” Dean laughed silently but there was still enough scorn in his expression for Vivian’s face to fall.

“This is our world, sweetheart, God can’t help us up every time we fall on our face,” Dean said gently and Vivian shook her head, rubbing her eyes. “And Cas... I know you want him to pick up his sword and do great things… But sometimes you just need to try to protect the things that are still there to protect instead of rushing into the next battle.” Vivian remained silent, but she nodded. “The time for battle will come, I promise,” Dean assured her, “but right now it’s more important to save as many people as possible and make sure there’s still someone left when Cas kicks those bastards’ asses.” He patted her shoulder. “Okay?” Vivian nodded, looking up at him with a small smile.

“Okay,” she said, “you’re kinda cool, Dean. Despite the umbrella.”

“It’s Cas’ umbrella for God’s sake!” Dean groaned, but he was glad that the girl laughed, turning around to guide Dean the last few steps to where breakfast would be waiting.

Dean’s mind was still full of their previous conversation when the canteen came into view – an unremarkable longish concrete building with fogged up windows. Vivian left his side, joining a red-haired woman.

“That’s Dean. He’s Cas’ friend,” Dean heard her say when he got into hearing distance. He closed the umbrella when they were all standing in the shelter of the buildings’ entrance hall. The woman, probably the teen’s mother, looked at Vivian with a mixture of confusion and reprimand, before she turned to Dean.

“I’m Thea. I’m in charge of the settlement’s lodgings,” she nodded her head to the doorway. “The angel’s already waiting for you,” she said rather brusquely, then she excused herself and left, pulling Vivian, who grinned at him one more time, towards a staircase. Dean thought about lingering in the hall for a while longer, because for some reason he felt slightly self-conscious about going to join Castiel. The conversation he’d had with Vivian had not gone past him without leaving a mark. But he took a deep breath, pulled himself together and went into the canteen.

He spotted Castiel immediately, sitting at a long table, placed toward the very back of the room. The scent of coffee and freshly baked bread was strong and quite a few people were sitting at the tables, chatting and eating. There was an open kitchen and he saw a blackboard with today’s breakfast on it.

“Breakfast?” a woman he was passing asked him. He blinked at her in surprise, but nodded. “Just a second. Take a seat!” Dean nodded once again, but then he made his way to where Castiel was sitting. He gave no indication of having noticed him. He had his elbows on the table, his head lowered and his hands linked in his neck. Dean put his hand on Castiel’s shoulder and kept his hand touching him, even when he stepped around the table and sat down.

“Are you alright?” Castiel raised his head, his face stormy only for a second before it eased into calmness. “Cas…” Dean took away his hand when the woman came to his table with coffee and breakfast and a refill for Castiel’s tea. Dean shot her a small smile, before she returned to the kitchen. Turning back to Castiel, he found the angel looking at him with the same calm face, but troubled, glistening eyes. Dean hated that wet-eyed look on Castiel with a passion. “Cas, man… What’s wrong?”

“Dean, do you know why nobody touches me or why nobody calls me by name?” he asked and Dean was so surprised by the apparently unrelated answer, that he lifted an eyebrow, shaking his head in silence. Castiel reached out and touched Dean’s hand. Dean looked down at the back of Castiel’s hand, the soft fingers tips brushing against Dean’s wrist. He raised his eyes up towards Castiel in confusion, but drew in a breath when he saw the color of his eyes changed into green, his nose and cheeks covered by faint freckles.

“Uh… Cas?” Castiel let go of Dean’s hand, closing his eyes and drawing his hands through his unruly hair again, letting his palms rest on his shoulders. When he opened his eyes again they were their usual intense blue.

“I kept changing. Into them, into people they knew well, into people they wanted to see, into people they didn’t want to see,” Castiel explained, wiping fingers over his cheeks and the freckles were gone in an instant. “As an angel I know a lot about humans by just looking at them. But as… what I am now…” he looked at Dean, his expression solemn. “Maybe you know that Leviathan know everything about the people they copy… They – I see their thoughts, their memories… It’s not an ability that particularly endears me to the already wary humans…”

“O… Okay… I understand that it might make them avoid touching you,” Dean agreed, still slightly freaked out by having seen some of his own features bleeding into Castiel’s. “But why are you telling me this…?” Castiel sighed.

“Not long ago I guided a small group of people that had survived the sudden corruption of their lands to this settlement. Vivian touched me against the warning of her mother and I was careless… In that short instance I was able to see and memorize everything about her life up to that point… As an angel the complete knowledge of a human would have left me unaffected… I was affected though, I might have even changed slightly… Fortunately, Vivian didn’t notice, but her mother did… She’s been wary of me ever since.” Casitel lowered his head and Dean was still waiting for the punch line. He had noticed the frosty look Thea had shot both him and her daughter when she’d used Castiel’s name. “When the people I’ve come to know in this way speak my name,” he continued, apparently ignoring Dean’s question, “I hear them.” He looked at Dean and narrowed his eyes, but not in anger, Dean could see that. “Like… a kind of prayer, just fainter. I am bound to listen until their voices fade back into silence.”

“Oh,” Dean said, finally getting what Castiel was talking about. Dean directed his gaze towards the coffee stained mug next to his hands in tense silence. He’d said far more smite worthy things while praying to Castiel than during his short pep-talk with Vivian, but the knowledge that Castiel must have heard some of it still embarrassed him. “So… my talk with Vivian…?” Castiel didn’t reply for a while, turning his head to the side to look out into the rainy day. Dean didn’t need an answer anyway, slumping his shoulders. It was nothing to feel bad about, but it was not as if he’d enjoyed having heart-to-hearts with Castiel, even though he was just eavesdropping.

“Humans like…,” Castiel started, pressing his lips together before turning back to Dean with a loop-sided, grim grin. “Personal space.”

“Cas…” He meant to tell him that he couldn’t help it, that it was not something that he could control, but he remained silent and Castiel continued speaking in a subdued tone.

“I try to fit in the best I can, but I’m still… _alien_. They shy away from me and I probably deserve it… I heard Vivian… I know she expects more from me. Everyone does…” Castiel looked at Dean, nodding his head slowly. “You expected more of me too…” Dean couldn’t suppress a heavy sigh at that and he pushed away his half-full plate in order to prop his elbows on the table.

“I didn’t expect _more_ of you, just better judgment, Cas,” he told him and when Castiel lowered his eyes towards the surface of the table, Dean closed his eyes. He was really tired of this eternal tension between them. “Look… I don’t think this is the right time and place for this conversation,” he started again, looking at Castiel’s lowered head. “Cas, come on. Look at me.” Castiel lifted his head reluctantly, his mouth pale by being pressed into a thin line. Dean’s gaze softened and he shook his head at him. “But you heard me too, right? You made mistakes… Big ones and it hurt. It was terrible and I wanted to bash your head in for lying to me. But, Cas, you picked yourself up and came back to fight. That’s got to count for something, right?” Castiel didn’t reply but for a lowering of his eyes again. “You promised to make it up to me and you’re trying.” The silence afterwards was incredibly awkward and when Castiel was still focusing all of his attention on the sticky surface of the table, Dean decided to finish his breakfast.

“More coffee?” the woman apparently in charge of the canteen asked when coming over to grab Dean’s empty plate. Dean looked up and past her, seeing that the canteen now held a lot more people, but there still were a couple of empty seats between them and the next people at their table.

“No, thanks, I’m fine. Don’t want to take advantage of your hospitality too much,” Dean assured her, surely the food and coffee was as rationed as the things in the communal bath. The woman laughed, the skin around her eyes creasing pleasantly and she shook her head at him.

“Have a safe journey,” she told him when he insisted that he really needed no more coffee, then she also nodded at Castiel before leaving again.

“We should go.” It was the first thing Castiel had said in over twenty minutes and Dean sighed, but got up from his seat. He picked up the umbrella and Castiel took the backpack and they ventured out into the rain. Dean opened up the umbrella and held it out over Castiel’s head when the other was walking out into the rain. Castiel looked up in surprise, then he turned his head to send Dean a quizzical look. Dean snorted and walked up to Castiel, getting under the shelter of the umbrella himself.

“Come on… At least don’t make me walk around with this embarrassing umbrella on my own,” he joked and Castiel’s eyes darted up, then to Dean’s face. In the end he just shrugged and kept close to Dean under the umbrella. Castiel guided him along the street and to a gate. Nobody was stopping them when Castiel made the heavy gate open with a flick of his hand and they left the settlement with the sound of the gate slamming shut again.

“You’re still giving me the silent treatment?” Dean wondered when they were making their way through the forest and Castiel still hadn’t said anything. The floor was terrible to walk on and the heavy rain was drumming onto the umbrella. His jeans, already damp, were soaked in a matter of minutes, as was his shoulder that wasn’t covered by the umbrella.

“I’m not… I just don’t know what to tell you,” Castiel said and his voice sounded honest enough, but guarded nevertheless. Dean huffed and tugged at the angel’s arm to get him a bit closer. Castiel made a surprised noise, his body warm but damp against the side of Dean’s, but Dean still took the opportunity to slip his arm around his shoulder. Castiel kept silent, but he didn’t seem to be eager to pull away.

“Thank you…,” was what Dean finally got to hear and when he looked up he found Castiel showing him a small smile. “For having faith in me, despite everything…”

“Well… Still not the right time or place for this conversation,” Dean said with a huff and Castiel shook his head with a bemused snort. “But you’re welcome.” Castiel smiled and the silence afterwards wasn’t that bad anymore.


	5. Chapter 5

**Part 4**

Castiel guided the way to Frank mostly with his eyes fixed to the sky overhead. It was milky white with dark, mold colored, toxic looking clouds. The rain had let up once Castiel had flown them out of the settlement and closer to Norfolk, where Castiel assured him Frank would be hiding. Dean had no way to know if the Norfolk, Virginia of 2014 was the same as the one he knew. But he doubted it. He doubted anything in this world was still familiar. Everything around Dean was wild plains with flat moss covered stones and hills in the distance. There were no cities, no human made landmarks but skeletons of electric lines and cracked pavement cutting through the landscape.

“So… is Norfolk another settlement?” Dean wondered when they were making a stop to eat something. Dean didn’t feel safeso out in the open and in plain sight, but Castiel was walking in expanding circles around the fire he had made. It was still day-light, but the temperature had dropped quite drastically, chill replacing stifling warmth. Dean recognized some symbols that were burned into the ground when Castiel passed but most were lines and circles that made no sense to him at all. He wasn’t even sure what Castiel was guarding them against.

“It’s actually an outpost,” Castiel said, eyes alternating between the symbols on the ground and the sky. It was as if he were listening for something or reading secret codes in the clouds Dean couldn’t see. Neither one nor the other would be particularly surprising to Dean. Castiel turned his eyes back down and nodded, then he stomped his foot and all the symbols around them flared to life with flashes of blue light. Dean cursed in surprise, but the light was gone as soon as it had appeared. Nothing seemed changed only that the fire burned a little brighter and Dean felt a bit warmer. He heard Castiel making his way over to him before he crouched down next to Dean, waving his hand at the fire, making it spark and the air around Dean warmed up a bit more. “It’s Dry Lands, but people don’t live there yet. It’s more like a camp of people waiting to catch a ship out of America.”

“You mentioned that before,” Dean said, holding out his hands to the fire, before turning his head to study Castiel. “That’s possible?” Castiel shrugged and turned his attention to his backpack, rummaging inside of it until he found a dry change of clothes.

“It’s difficult,” Castiel said, handing the clothes to Dean. “It requires a lot of organizing… But we get about one ship a month. I’m sure Frank will tell you more about it…”

“Can’t you carry people over the Ocean?” Dean wondered, looking at the clothes.

“Dean… Change into dry clothes,” Castiel retorted impatiently when Dean didn’t make any attempts to get changed. “Should I look away?” The teasing tone caused Dean to roll his eyes.

“Alright, alright! You’re worse than Sam!” Dean felt Castiel’s eyes on him while he changed, but he ignored it the best he could.

“I can’t carry more than two people at the same time… You must have noticed that flying is… far more physical now than it was before,” he said and Dean raised an eyebrow after pulling on a shirt.

“Well… more actual flying and less teleporting,” Dean agreed, rubbing his hands. He felt a lot better now without cold, wet clothes sticking to his skin. “But you had wings before. Didn’t you fly?”

“I did fly,” Castiel told him, opening the knot on a bundle he balanced on his knees, revealing a couple of sandwiches. Dean eyed them, feeling his stomach yearn for decent food. Castiel carefully handed the food over to Dean as if the sandwiches were some kind of sacred offering, but Dean didn’t complain. “In an abstract sense of the term.  I could just tear through the fabric of your physical reality. Now I actually have to cover all the ground I want to pass. Moving my body whereas before I could move space with a wingbeat.”

“And now you’re one of us. Stuck on earth. Kinda,” Dean said in between bites, not at his most considerate apparently, “sorry, man.” Castiel chuckled at that and bent forward a bit, over his knees to place his hands on the ground. Dean saw him trail symbols into the earth, little curves and lines that looked Enochian. His grin and the shadows the fire cast on his face made Dean forget to swallow his food.

“It’s not that bad…,” he said, “to wander the earth with a companion.” Dean did swallow now, coughing slightly. He looked up, still grinning. “Almost romantic, isn’t it?”

“Cheesy, that’s what it is,” Dean huffed in sudden embarrassment, looking at Castiel for as long as he could endure, then turning his eyes towards the fire. He shrugged before daring to look back at Castiel. “But it’s always easier… If you don’t have to do things on your own…” Castiel smiled at him, a gentle and calm expression making his features smooth and inviting. Dean didn’t know what to do with it, so he finished his food and he let himself fall down to the hard ground and dry grass. There was no wind and it was silent apart from the sound of the fire turning the dry twigs to ash. Dean drew in deep breaths of smoky air, so different to the rain and mud scent that had clung to the settlement in the woods. The looming sky looked like fading bruises on porcelain skin, painful but healing. Dean reached out blindly, touching his fingers to Castiel’s lower arm and tugged.

“Stop staring at me, creep,” he hissed and Castiel wordlessly lay down next to him, bringing with him a dizzying cloud of strong scents that had previously been masked by the fire’s smoke. The clashing mixture of sea and sugar was almost overwhelming and Dean exhaled loudly, blinking a few times to clear a faint haze that had taken hold of his vision. “Cas, man, I don’t mean to be rude, but…” Castiel turned his head Dean’s way and frowned at him. “Uh… your smell… It’s rather strong.” Castiel didn’t seem off-put at all, but he did look ill at ease.

“I’m sorry,” he started and attempted to sit back up, but Dean flung his arm out, pressing it down on Castiel’s chest. Castiel gave a start, but apart from the rise and fall of his chest he didn’t move.

“No, no, no. Stay here. It’s not bad. It’s…,” he started, surprised at the sudden dryness of his mouth causing him to lick his lips. He inched closer to Castiel, slowly under the watchful eyes of the angel, then he turned, propping himself up on one elbow and looking down at Castiel. It was strange, such a strange smell, such a strange taste. There was something funny about it, making Dean’s head spin and his heart speed up and his free hand brushed over Castiel’s stomach. The angel rewarded this gesture with a slightly panicky widening of his eyes. “ _Good_.” Dean bent down, feeling and tasting Castiel’s erratic breathing on his wet lips, but Castiel’s hands shot up, covering Dean’s mouth and nose. Dean raised both eyebrows in surprise, then his head cleared, his fingers dug deeper into the soft flesh of Castiel’s stomach and then he shot up, scrambling backwards. “Shit!” he hissed, staring at the man currently lying flat on his back, hands still raised and eyes focused on Dean as well. Castiel’s cheeks were flushed and he looked embarrassed, but certainly not as embarrassed as Dean felt. Now with a bit more distance between him and Castiel Dean could still feel the frantic beating of his heart, he could still smell Castiel mixed in with ashes, he could still feel the _heat_. Dean had almost forgotten what it felt like to be drunk and sobering up after doing something absolutely stupid, but that was it. “Cas, sorry…”

“That’s… my fault,” Castiel told him sitting up, rubbing his hands over his face, lightly hitting his fingers against his lips before speaking up again. “I should have known. And yet I believed that your advances yesterday were caused by something else. Even if it was pity…”

“Cas,” Dean groaned and shuffled forwards on his knees, to put his hand on Castiel’s shoulder. Castiel was warm to the touch, even through the layers of his clothes. Castiel tilted his head, looking up at Dean with an expression that Dean could only describe as longing. He couldn’t say anything for quite a while, simply meeting Castiel’s eyes until the angel turned his head downwards. “So... what is it? Don’t tell me you’re producing some kind of pheromones that mess up my head?” And body, but if Castiel looked a bit closer then he’d know that too.

“I fear that’s it…,” Castiel replied and Dean just stared before he let himself fall back on his butt and laughed. “Dean…” Castiel sounded annoyed but Dean couldn’t help it, snorting before composing himself. “My body is currently under a lot of stress and you’re not making it any easier by grating on my nerves.” Dean coughed and cleared his throat while trying to make up his mind on what to say to that.

“So… You weren’t just pulling my leg? With the ovulation… thing?” Dean let his head drop, pinching the bridge of his nose even though he couldn’t help grinning at the absurdity. “God, I can’t believe I’m actually having this kind of conversation with you.”

“I don’t wish to have this conversation, but you are the one trying to get into my pants,” Castiel said sourly, taking Dean by surprise, then he sighed and looked up at the sky. “I don’t know why this is happening…”

“Well, I didn’t notice you doing anything like this back when you were an angel… Well, unless you compensated by watching porn and smooching demons.” Castiel shot him a withering look. “So I assume this is new…” Dean raised his head slightly. “And leviathan…”

“It’s not strictly Leviathan, Dean. Leviathan do not procreate, nor do angels,” Castiel explained and Dean shrugged at that. For some reason this didn’t even faze him as much as other things he’d encountered over the years.

“Humans do, though,” he said lamely and Castiel huffed, turning towards Dean. Another wave of heat and excitement washed over Dean at the renewed proximity and he had to put both of his hands over his eyes for a second to calm himself down. Castiel waited until Dean regained some semblance of composure before he continued.

“I know, Dean. But I won’t fool myself… Even in this shape you feel the effects of it, on some basic level you know that this body is meant to procreate.” Dean grimaced at that, looking Castiel up and down. Of course, there was something else hidden beneath the familiar surface, something supernatural and mind-blowing, but to still hear Castiel in Jimmy’s body saying something like that was… almost ridiculous. Not that Dean hadn’t taken note of the gravity in Castiel’s voice and he had felt the luring pull of the not quite angel mere minutes ago. And if he was being completely honest to himself he could still feel it now.  However, chances were that this was not caused by whatever Castiel’s body had planned for him. _For them_. Dean shuddered.

“So… have you,” Dean muttered and made an aborted gesture towards Castiel that could mean anything. He just hoped Castiel got what he wanted to ask.

“Rest assured. If your first birth is Leviathan you think twice about making your body the host of something else.” Dean widened his eyes, slowly slipping his hands off his face to stare at Castiel.

“Wha… what?” Dean’s sudden horrified tension lessened somewhat when Castiel burst out laughing, reaching out to hit Dean’s shoulder. “Dude! Not cool!” he shouted, “for a moment I thought you were being serious!”

“They did come out of my body, Dean…,” Castiel told him, now serious again and Dean heaved a sigh at that. He did remember, quite vividly so. The oily blood running in rivulets down Castiel’s unusually pale skin, the nauseating feeling in his stomach to see Castiel distorted, the slow descent into the lake, the blackness, the coat.

“But you didn’t give birth to them, Cas, don’t be ridiculous,” Dean said, his forehead creased with the implications Castiel’s words carried.

“I’m not trying to be funny or cause you awkwardness, Dean. But technicalities do not matter to the Leviathan,” Castiel said and Dean saw him clench his fists and curl his lip in a bitter grin. “I heard them, yearning to be let out. And I heard them, while my body was mending. They are aware of me in a way that… does not bode well, Dean.” Dean lifted his eyebrow and searched Castiel’s face to see what exactly he was on about.

“Nothing about the leviathans does strike me as remotely pleasant…,” he said and Castiel threw dirt into the flames, making them flicker and flare. “You don’t think that you were…” Dean trailed off when he saw Castiel’s expression become even tenser. “You weren’t brought back to be one of them, Cas!” he continued fiercely, closing more space between them to grab Castiel’s arms. The other man’s eyes widened instantly and he drew back when Dean brought himself close to Castiel’s face. Dean could still perceive the ensnaring smell that Castiel emitted, but he was able to keep a clear head this time. He shook Castiel once and then a second time for good measure. “You listen to me, Cas,” Dean hissed, his voice low and Castiel licked his lips. It was odd seeing him this nervous, but Dean wasn’t that easily deterred. “You don’t have to be one of them. You have a choice, you told me as well! You chose to help us, you chose to find ways for us to survive, not because anybody told you to, but because you know that it’s _right_.” Castiel shook his head, huffing out a hollow laugh. Dean noticed that Castiel was about to get up, so he closed his hand around Castiel’s upper arm, squeezing hard enough to cause the angel to turn his head.

“No…,” he said and Dean frowned in incomprehension. Castiel lifted the hand that was not impaired by Dean’s tight grip and gently pried off Dean’s fingers.

“No? No _what_?” Dean asked in irritation, shaking his head. Why was Castiel trying to make this any more difficult than it already was?

“This…,” Castiel started, his voice low and he turned his head upwards to the sky. “existence I lead now is difficult. I understand that I deserve any punishment, maybe I don’t even deserve to be alive unless it is for cleaning up my messes.” Dean didn’t know what Castiel was aiming at and neither did he think it was the best idea to interrupt him now. His blue eyes were focused on the sky, with that kind of stare that hinted at him seeing beyond the clouds and the haze hanging over them. “Dean… when I flared back to life the only thing I heard was the Leviathan. Their constant hissing in my mind, the gnawing of their teeth and the echoes of those that drowned in their famished violence… And as I managed to heal and ascend from the darkness they kept me in I was faced with the absolute silence from Heaven.”

“Yeah, you said you don’t hear them anymore and I told you that you don’t need them,” Dean said, punching the hard floor because he needed to hurt something. The silent pain in Castiel’s voice shook him to his bones. Just to imagine him, trying to heal and being surrounded by nothing but those monsters… For months – years even!

“Shit, I should have looked for you, Cas…!” Dean hissed, wiping his hand over his face, “we could have gotten you out!” Castiel turned to look at him, his expression first pained, but then he smiled gently.

“At times… I hoped that you would come for me and I wished for it when the taunting and lure of the Leviathan got unbearable… But why should you? I was dead, yet again…” Castiel’s tone was not judgmental, but Dean still knew that this was something else Castiel kept agonizing about in this new and lonely journey. Dean opened his mouth to just say something but Castiel reached out, not actually touching him but Dean understood that his well-meant interruption was not entirely welcome at the moment. “Leviathan don’t have the power to bring me back to life. But no matter how long I called and listened, there was only deafening silence in return…” Castiel ceased and Dean studied him. His eyes were still directed upwards, narrowed as if he was squinting at too bright light. Dean breathed in deeply, then he put his hand on Castiel’s shoulder, giving it a tight squeeze.

“Okay… Okay, Cas, I think I get it…,” he started and Castiel closed his eyes, but his head remained tilted upwards. “It was a dickish move to bring you back and ditch you. But just because you do not get validation from upstairs, doesn’t mean that what you set yourself to do is not the _right_ thing to do.”

“Dean…,” Castiel sighed, finally opening his eyes again and looking at Dean. “I know, but I still…” It was Castiel averting his eyes that made Dean raise an eyebrow.

“Just do what you can do, Cas…” Castiel shook his head, but he made no further attempts to continue this conversation. Dean greatly disliked how unresolved the situation felt. But there was nothing he could do about it if Castiel didn’t want to speak up.

* * *

 

When the silence between them had drawn on long enough, Dean tried to steer the conversation back to where it actually started off.

“So you’re not going to breed baby monsters, are you?” Castiel’s head snapped up and he frowned at Dean, before he rolled his eyes heavenwards.

“If I keep as I am and steer clear of anybody affected by my state then that should not be an issue,” he insisted, drumming his fingers against his knees. He rolled his shoulders and sighed. “It’s really uncomfortable wearing Jimmy’s visage at the moment, but seeing as you are affected I cannot risk reverting.” Dean raised an eyebrow in confusion.

“Why shouldn’t I be affected? I think anybody could smell you from a distance!” he argued and when Castiel lowered his brow Dean dropped his eyes. “Uh, no offense.”

“Because you’re human, Dean. No one in the Settlements has ever reacted to me and nobody but you seems to describe my smell as _sweet_. All they smell, even at the height of the cycle, is my shampoo.” Dean furrowed his brow at that piece of revelation, but in the end he just shrugged. He had already embarrassed himself to an unredeemable degree during the course of the day. No need to get all defensive now.

“So, maybe I like you for other reasons,” he suggested and Castiel lifted his head at that, eyes narrowed in confusion, before they widened almost comically. After half a minute of staring at Dean (and Dean actually forced himself to return his look) he turned his gaze back down, his skin taking on a slightly rosy hue and by the time Castiel started fidgeting with the hem of his shirt Dean had to laugh. “Come on, man, don’t behave like a teenage girl now!” Castiel frowned up at him and the mixture of shyness and irritation was rather amusing to watch on Castiel’s face.  Dean couldn’t help grinning at that and he sighed deeply, looking up at the sky. “Awww… Twice into the future and one time I get a sex loving hippie and the other one a shy virgin?”

“I’m not a…,” Castiel started to argue but then he cleared his throat in apparent discomfort. “It’s not as if I’m _shy_ , but you haven’t exactly come across as being interested before.”

“You’re interested?” Dean wondered instead of trying to come up with a dignified answer to that and Castiel groaned. “What? You’re the stuck up angel, not me!”

“I wish for far more important things from you, Dean, than sexual gratification,” he said and now Dean had to narrow his eyes at his travel companion. Judging from the look on Castiel’s face it seemed as if they were steering towards delicate subject matters again. “I’ve seen a chance at being close to you again instead of alone, abandoned and hated.” Castiel looked at Dean, his expression gentle now, a rueful smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “And you were nice, even though you must feel great resentment towards me.” Dean sighed, closed his eyes and dropped his head in defeat. He’d been right, this _was_ a delicate topic, one filling him with discomfort. Because everything depended on his action, on the right choice of words, words that could either bring a shy smile to Castiel’s lips or a look of utter heartbreak. Dean hated that he held the strings to Castiel’s emotions in his hands. And even though Dean felt insecure, he was well aware that they were probably barely scratching the surface of all the bottled up things Castiel felt or had to say on _them_. But Dean knew that he could just be honest and do both of them a favor.

“I don’t, Cas. Okay?” he said to the dry, hard ground, quite a bit more forceful than necessary. Upon Castiel’s silence Dean lifted his head and looked at him. The smile was gone from his face, replaced by a neutral expression. It wasn’t really helpful to finding the right words. “I don’t hate you. You messed up, okay, but you’re family, Cas.” The angel lowered his head, but he kept his eyes on Dean. Very slowly a small smile formed on his lips. Dean sighed in relief and grinned at him until Castiel’s smile got bigger.

“This doesn’t make the problems disappear, but I feel a lot better hearing that from you, Dean,” Castiel confessed, “because even if you’ve changed, you’re still you… There’s still hope…” Dean mirrored his smile, then he shrugged.

“As long as we’re alive there’s always some kind of hope,” he told him to which Castiel made a small noise of agreement before both of them reverted back to silence with only the fire’s crackle as distraction. Dean had meant what he had said – now that he knew that Castiel would come back he actually had the chance to allow himself to feel something other than mind numbing guilt and the bitter sting of betrayal and loss. He was not ready to face all the bottled up anger and pain head on just yet. This was the future, something that could as well be a dream to Dean, where he could practice his reaction to Castiel. Even though he felt like a dick to think it, he could actually leave this place behind without it affecting him. Whatever he did here only left an impact on this particular time, this particular future. Not his future, Dean refused to believe that it would get to that. The leviathans would not win, they’d do the same as last time everyone believed the world was going to end in one bloody apocalyptic battle. They had defied destiny enough times for Dean to just not believe in a clear cut future anymore. 2014 was ever crawling closer, true, but Dean doubted that it was the end of the world, even though someone or something tried to tell him the year was important.

Dean looked up from the fire, taking in the empty, color-drained landscape all around them before raising his eyes to the dirty excuse of a sky. The sickly looking clouds had become more in number, a thin stretch of ugly green yellow across the sky and into the distance where it was getting pale orange. He dared to look out the corner of his eyes and found Castiel almost mimicking his pose. He had his head tilted upwards, his eyes closed and his expression soft and serene. How he could look at ease in this wasteland was beyond Dean, but this was his time and it was Castiel’s chosen task to wander the earth.

“The noise is faint,” Castiel finally spoke up and Dean turned his head, knitting his brow in confusion. Even though Dean strained to hear anything, there was still only the sound of the fire. Not even Sam-static and for one moment the absence of the near constant whispering in his ears worried him. It was probably just the wards though.

“What noise?” Dean wondered when Castiel just tilted his head slowly from side to side, eyes still closed. “Hey!” Castiel opened his eyes, displaying a strikingly vibrant and clear blue that surprised Dean, but the glow had disappeared within a blink of an eye.

“I was right. _Raunacht_ will occur tonight and close to where I estimated,” he explained but Dean still didn’t understand. The entire concept of this event eluded Dean to some extent. Castiel must have noticed because he chose to elaborate: “ _Raunacht_ is not entirely predictable. A person attuned to the echoes of the other spheres might pick up on a string of whispers and afterimages and follow them to the correct location at the correct time. It’s a lot of guess work, but,” Castiel did something that looked like a proud smirk, “I’m pretty good at guessing.” Dean had to bite back on laughing at that. 

“Yeah, thousands of years of angel radio and now the freaky leviathan channel are bound to give you some experience, right?” Dean quipped and Castiel shrugged at that. Not long after he rolled his shoulders and got up.

“I think we should move. There’s still a lot of ground to cover and I have to save my strength,” Castiel said and bent down to hold his hand straight into the fire. Dean almost shouted in alarm, but the flames died down until there was nothing more but ash and some charred twigs.

“You didn’t say anything about saving strength when you last flew,” Dean said, not quite alarmed yet, even though Cas must have his reasons. They weren’t running into any dangers, weren’t they?

“Yes, but then I didn’t have to focus so much of my concentration on strengthening the form I’m currently in,” he said and Dean looked at him in incomprehension. Castiel sighed, took a step closer and tilted his head. Dean immediately felt warmth and a sudden interest in the smooth, inviting line of his neck. But he was still coherent enough to actually notice what was happening to him and he heaved a loud sigh, crossing his arms over his chest to keep himself from reaching out.

“Okay, fine, you try not to smother me with your sugar sweet sex scent,” he said and grimaced right after, “aww, shot me. This is really awkward.” Castiel laughed and the air cleared, fresh, like an ocean breeze. Dean realized that the angel actually made a conscious effort to not inconvenience him. But he couldn’t even bring himself to be more than slightly irritated at the attraction he felt towards the angel. It wasn’t as if Castiel could help it. It wasn’t as if Dean felt like resisting much. And it wasn’t like this was entirely new.

“At least you have something to laugh over when you return to your time and Sam,” Castiel said and reached down to get his arms through the slings of his backpack. Dean took his own leather bag, giving it a short shake to feel its content shifting about. He had long given up on having his weapon at the ready all of the time and maybe it was stupid to let his guard down, but it felt even stupider to carry a loaded gun around Castiel, who was nothing but nice and accommodating. And probably couldn’t be killed by anything he had with him except maybe Raphael’s blade, but he felt absolutely no desire to test it.

“Yeah, sure. You and me and the dangers of sex. That’ll be one story I’ll certainly take to my grave,” Dean muttered and watched the warding symbols around them dissolve with faint flickers of light.

“It’s not the first time this combination came up. Or is the story of you encouraging me in that den of iniquity also one you’ll take to your grave?” Castiel asked, his dead-pan voice luring another laugh out of Dean even though he should feel embarrassed about that. An angel in a brothel was still funny though and the look on Cas’ face had been hilarious. Poor guy.

“Nah, that one was awesome,” Dean replied and stepped over what had once been symbols, following Castiel. Even out of the circle of symbols, Dean still did not hear Sam trying to contact him, but a faint wind was now blowing, tickling his ears.

“I don’t know,” Castiel said, sounding slightly grouchy and Dean grinned. “It was rather unsettling.”

“Oh, come on. It was funny,” Dean argued, falling in step with Castiel after catching up with him. There was nothing to orient himself, but the faint orange in the distance that might signal the coming of early evening. Maybe they were heading east. Castiel was tight-lipped next to Dean, wearing an expression that would have been a perfect fit on Sam’s face. “Don’t tell me you weren’t at least a little bit interested?” Castiel rolled his eyes upwards in annoyance, but then he turned his head slightly, frowning at Dean.

“I was, until you made me leave with Chastity,” he said and Dean cocked an eyebrow at the name until he remembered the pretty blond thing. Castiel clearly didn’t approve of the lecherous grin appearing on Dean’s face.

“Why? Why then?” Castiel snorted but kept his eyes clear on Dean. For some reason this made him slightly uncomfortable.

“I thought you’d take a little bit of a more active role. More active than pushing me into the arms of a prostitute,” Castiel told him, voice clear, and Dean choked on his own sharp inhale of cold air. Castiel even had the gall to look smug as Dean tried to regain his composure.

After a sputter of undignified noises a strangled “what?!” was all that made it past Dean’s lip. And Castiel was still gracing him with that smug little look. “I hate it when you’re trying to be funny!”

“I‘m not trying to be funny,” Castiel retorted dryly, now focusing his attention back onto the landscape even though there was nothing to be seen. Dean still looked at the side of Castiel’s face with a mix of disbelief and embarrassment.

“You actually thought I was offering to pop your cherry?” Castiel shrugged, still a great feat with that monster of a backpack he carried, but he did manage to look more nonchalant about this entire business than Dean could ever hope to feel. “And you didn’t think about protesting that?”

“Why should I have? It didn’t actually seem like my opinion on the matter was of great importance to you.” Dean wanted to give him some indignant retort to that, but found that he would have to lie. It had seemed like he would do Castiel a favor with getting him laid. “I’m not exactly into meaningless sex, you know?”

“Uhm,” Dean muttered, one silly elongated sound into the silence around them and Castiel huffed at Dean’s the stupid expression. “Okay, whatever. Sorry about giving you the wrong idea,” he finally said and Castiel nodded at him in acknowledgment. “But just to make sure; you would have been on board with that?” Castiel took a while to answer and Dean wasn’t entirely sure why he felt nervous tension all of a sudden.

“Seeing as you wouldn’t let me wait in silent contemplation anyway, yes. Maybe you haven’t noticed, but you do have your charms.” Dean groaned at that, a groan that transformed into a breathy laugh and he hit Castiel’s shoulder. Castiel chuckled too and winked, wearing a teeth showing grin that caused his cheeks to dimple.

“Man, Cas… I’m so sorry,” Dean laughed, shaking his head, “for all that sexual frustration.”

“That’s quite alright, I didn’t exactly have a human male’s libido, so my frustration with you was on a more all-encompassing level.”

“Oh, now that makes me feel better,” Dean retorted, but he was still grinning, tension slowly easing away into the conversation. It was still a loaded topic, one that held so many more underlying truths than Dean ever wanted to face. The way Castiel talked about it though coaxed Dean out of wanting to take the entire topic and silence it to death. The tension between them, of whatever nature it had been over the years of their interaction, was easier now, never quite lifted but it was out in the open, with half a name attached to it. “What about your libido now?”

“Oh, you know… Normal,” he said casually and they arrived at the cracked road. Castiel started following it, walking on the hard dry earth next to it while Dean was glad to get some asphalt back under his feet. He really missed his car.

“Normal meaning what?”

“Normal as in I’d like to show you how good I look in lingerie so you’d stop asking questions about my sex life,” he said, his voice teasing but with an edge of irritation. Dean looked to the side, finding Castiel frowning up at him. “And not being able to.”  This might be the point where Dean should feel really uncomfortable about all of this, because if Cas didn’t put his mind to it being subtle was not his forte. Dean was half sure that this was an invitation to shut up about it. Not that Dean felt like he needed to heed this warning, but before he could feel all too bad about not being able to do just what Castiel had suggested, the angel chuckled silently.

“I’m sorry… I’m not good company when I’m like this,” he apologized, keeping in step with Dean, buryinghis hands into the pockets of his jacket and smiling down at the dusty roadside, “it’s just that I’ve never been able to talk to anyone about this before…”

“Don’t sweat it. It might be odd, but it’s a funny kind of odd,” Dean assured him, “but you might try to make some friends in this time-line…” Castiel shrugged, but didn’t give any reply so Dean thought about the few times he’d seen Castiel interact with anybody. It had never been exceptionally friendly, all business how Castiel usually was. But it was like that woman had said; Castiel was lonely. Dean understood that now. Finally. Dean pushed and pulled him into the direction he wanted Cas to go ~~to~~ and had never thought where he was when he wasn’t with them. In the long absence between a fleeting meeting and the next – where was Castiel then?

“There’s no real need for attachments,” Castiel assured him, calling him back from his troubling thoughts, but keeping his eyes fixed onto the road ahead. “It’s better this way…” Dean doubted it, because he knew exactly what Castiel meant. “I have lost the only friends I had. I have no need for new ones.”

“I… get it, Cas…,” Dean muttered, finding Castiel looking at him. He tried to fight the urge to look away, channeling his nervousness into the second impulse. He put his hand around the angel’s shoulder, pulling him closer. “We’ll manage. We’re still here. Okay?” Castiel only made a small, wounded sound that Dean hated causing, and he bumped shoulders with him, pressing his nose into Castiel’s clean smelling hair. “We’ll fix it. It’s going to be okay,” he whispered and this time Castiel didn’t even try to claim that there was no need to fix it. Because they were broken, shattered into angry, sharp edged fragments and it was only due to the distance that time put between them that they didn’t hurt each other that much while trying to slot back together. Dean believed, he _wanted_ to believe. They were going to be okay.

* * *

 

_“… time… not… impossible to get him back!”_

_“You cannot expect me to solve all your insignificant issues!”_

_“How can you call this insignificant?!”_

_“I can work with this. It’s not my business to clean up after you! I tried before and you… don’t care… end of…”_

* * *

Dean threw up over Castiel’s shoes.

Tinny voices were scratching inside the sticky darkness behind Dean’s firmly closed eyes. Each breath he took burned and choked him. The air was moist and heavy, forcing itself down his throat past the acidic taste of bile and he coughed. The pounding in his head was terrible, blood rushing too fast, next to the sound of his heaving and retching.

His knelt on the wet ground between spoiled fruit and fallen leaves. Castiel was there, he felt his cool, dry hands on his damp face. The violent nausea dissipated as fast as it had come, leaving behind only a queasiness, the pain in his head and throat.

“I hate the future,” he groaned childishly and Castiel helped him up but didn’t trust Dean to stand on his wobbly legs without his arms around him. Dean cracked an eye open, but the orange light of late evening that fell on them in patches through the foliage was almost too bright.

“ _Dean_ … Dean, are you alright?” Castiel sounded concerned and Dean turned his eyes away from the treetops to look at him. He was close but the smell of Dean’s own vomit and the forest around them almost cancelled out Castiel’s scent. Dean knew that if it was Sam’s puke all over his shirt and shoes he wouldn’t be so eager to pull his brother into a hug. Castiel did though, drawing the fingers of one hand gently though Dean’s short hair while the other held him upright, firm but with care.

“Yeah… Fucking stench. Fucking voices screeching in my head,” he hissed and leant against Castiel, resting his sweaty forehead against the soft, cool skin of the angel’s neck.

“I’m sorry…,” Castiel apologized and Dean wrinkled his nose, putting an arm-length’s distance between them. He felt sore all over, his legs trembled a little, but he was fine enough, not that Castiel seemed inclined to let him go. The fastest way to the Outpost where Frank lived was straight through a long stretch of this corruption addled landscape. Foul smelling and decaying, with a rust colored sky peeking out over spotty thick leaves oozing disgusting liquid the color of snot. Dean had only managed half an hour, half an hour of bravado before the buzz in his ears had turned to nausea inducing noise, his concentration on ignoring the overripe fruit scent slipped and he’d found himself puking all over Castiel’s feet after the poor guy had turned to check on him.

“Cas, it’s not your fault,” Dean hissed, trying to wash out the taste of bile with water but it just diluted it, making Dean shudder. He screwed the lid back on the flask and slipped it into his bag. Castiel sighed deeply, but then he stepped back into Dean’s personal space.

“It’s not that much further. I will fly,” he insisted and Dean wanted to protest but Castiel’s wings unfurled with a violent waft of warm air and a rain of oily blood.

“Man, if you-,” Dean wanted to protest, seeing a shudder go through the angel, but then Castiel wrapped his arms around Dean. “I’m gonna puke all over you again,” he warned instead but the huge wings stirred and they soared into the air, through twigs and branches until they burst through the foliage. The orange light was blinding, but Castiel didn’t give him the chance to complain or even look around before the colors bled into indistinctive flashes.

Dead gave an alarmed shout when the floor returned under his feet sooner than anticipated, Castiel reaching under his knees and lifting him up to prevent stumbling over him.

“Jesus! Not the most elegant landing I’ve witnessed,” he tried to tease, but Castiel was breathing loudly through his nose, lips pressed into a firm line and drained of blood. “Cas…?” Worry spiked through Dean, but Castiel cracked an eye open and nodded at him. “Good… Okay… Let me down.” Despite his concern Dean still didn’t feel like being carried, especially not in such an undignified manner. It was slightly odd how the guy could look close to fainting but still held another grown man like he weighed nothing at all. Without further ado Dean was lowered to the ground. The wings had already disappeared by the time the hunter looked.

“I didn’t want to land too close to the camp,” Castiel told him, “so we still have a bit of ground to cover. Can you walk?” Dean shot him a side-way glance, taking in Castiel’s pale face, the tremors that went through him, the moist look to his eyes.

“I can… Mouth still tastes funky, but I feel better now that I’m out of those woods. But you don’t look too good,” he said, grabbing Castiel’s upper arm and giving it a tight squeeze. Castiel managed to smile at him.

“I’m fine… Just tired.”

“Then we rest,” Dean insisted, looking around them. They were standing at the edge of what seemed to be a dry river bed, the ground reddish and cracked. The sky here looked almost like an ordinary evening sky but it was still far too bright around them.

“I fear we don’t have the time,” Castiel said and started walking, his arm slipping through Dean’s. “Come.” Dean sighed and shook his head, before grabbing Castiel’s hand and gently pulling the angel after him in the direction he was facing. “Thank you.” Dean wasn’t sure what had earned him this gratitude - whether it was because he wasn’t putting up a fight or because he was guiding them now even though he didn’t know where they were going. Maybe both, maybe it didn’t matter. Castiel kept his eyes on the sky, mouth moving soundlessly.

* * *

 

Dean was glad when he could see the first signs of what remained of Norfolk in the distance. He had tried for about ten minutes to engage Castiel in conversation, but after getting first an irritated growl and later an alarmingly pitiful whine from the back of the angel’s throat he had given up. The air around them had cleared up from the scents of the forest, but Dean could still smell his vomit on both of them. Castiel, for all his tight lipped frown and irregular bursts of shivers still must have had enough energy to control the shape and mysterious workings of his body. Dean was only secretly sorry about it, but mostly he was concerned about the surprisingly fast pace Castiel’s condition seemed to worsen.

The debris of a ruined city made Dean hopeful that they had enough time to rest for Castiel to regain his energy or eat or lock Dean out of his room. The near-by cry of a seagull made Dean flinch, not having expected it in the least. The birds were perching on the stones that were left of buildings or street sign poles. Dean couldn’t recall having seen any animals before, especially not in the Outside world. Prying his eyes away from the alarmingly huge birds, Dean turned to keep close tabs on where they were going. They were on an uneven, but paved road through the city. It looked abandoned but not in a state of falling apart any minute now. As if people had just packed up their stuff and left. But the fact that this city looked like it had turned into a ghost town decades ago was still unnerving when Dean knew that it’s only been a year.

“We crossed over a very strong ward just a few meters back… The corruption forced people closer to the shore, but for now the decay should be stopped,” Castiel explained almost as if he had anticipated a question and Dean was glad to get coherent sentences out of him. The lights were all out in the houses around him and windows were smashed, but it didn’t look unsalvageable. When he mentioned that Castiel gave a shrug. “It isn’t. Given time this might become a city again… It just takes a lot of human effort… And most people here are just getting ready to leave…”

“But couldn’t you ward more cities or villages? Preferably _before_ America will become one big toxic jungle, some leviathan-controlled fortresses and rudimentary settlements strewn all around the landscape,” Dean wondered. His picture of 2014 was incomplete and patchy, but the distinct lack of human civilization was worrying. Castiel’s sigh called Dean out of his thoughts.

“I try what I can, but Dean… It’s been a year of corruption and I’ve only been back for a couple of months… I can’t build human cities or societies… I can merely guide and teach…” Dean saw lights in the distance, flickering in chilly air around them. He turned his head to study Castiel.

“Why?” he wondered and even though Castiel wasn’t looking at him his expression became pinched, a layer of contemplation covering the slightly uneasy one from before. “I mean I get it, you can’t be everywhere at once, but why do you think you can’t do more?”

“I am not meant to lead, Dean,” Castiel answered, his voice silent and drowned by the cackle of seagulls sitting on top a nearby building. Dean shot them an irritated look, but when he turned back to Castiel the angel had directed his gaze to the floor. It looked bashful, ashamed and hurt. Dean knew not to poke and prod for more answers when Castiel got like this because it could easily turn into the angel putting all his emotions on the table for Dean to see. And Dean still didn’t know how to deal with that, he wasn’t even sure why the idea of leading a group of humans seemed such a raw topic.

“Why not? You seemed-“ Castiel did raise his head to look at him now, his eyes narrowed, but not in anger.

“I have been arrogant enough to think I could do it. I couldn’t do it within my own species. What makes you think I would do better with yours? I put down my sword and I put down my crown. And I don’t want them back,” he said, his voice fierce but dangerously low too, making Dean take an involuntary step away from Castiel and the strange glint in his eyes. “I’m nothing but a messenger now.” Dean didn’t avert his eyes, even though Castiel’s small and infrequent outbursts always caught him by surprise and left his mouth dry and void of a retort that sounded adequate. So he kept silent and looked at Castiel until he did a sharp intake of breath and looked away.

“Okay. You’re tired and I’m being annoying. Sorry,” he said and Castiel actually looked surprised to get any apology at all, having probably expected some inappropriate joking remark and Dean wasn’t sure why this rubbed him the wrong way. He didn’t want to hurt him, at least not now, _not anymore_ just by running his mouth. And he didn’t – shouldn’t – push him when he was obviously in pain for Dean’s own safety.

When Castiel turned his eyes to stoically glare at the ground, Dean looked towards the light. There was no metal fence, nothing to keep anything or anyone out but for the invisible wards Castiel had mentioned. The seagulls on the roofs were distracting, but not distracting enough for Dean not to notice the faint noise of people. If he squinted his eyes just enough he could both make out a harbor area not so far off and some people standing around the corners of the streets.

“No guards?”

“Outposts are not the same as Settlements, Dean… It doesn’t have the same level of organization…” Dean snorted, but before they could get close enough to catch a glimpse at one of the people standing around, Castiel pushed him into a side-street. Dean stumbled, but managed to brace his hands on the wall so as not to stumble over his own feet and the empty bottles and fallen trashcans. “Some people here are difficult to deal with… Let’s just get straight to Frank before they think they like to question either you and me.” Dean was confused about that, but followed Castiel through the street and into alleys, Dean catching sight of the harbor every now and again, the water dark and menacing, reflecting the reddish sky on its oily surface. Castiel led him down a flight of stairs and through another alley, ducking under an empty door arch and through an abandoned building. They startled more sea-gulls but when they got out of the building they were on a small cobblestone square surrounded by the back walls of houses. There was a road leading away from the square and muted noise came from that direction. Castiel didn’t guide him there, but steered them towards a low brick building attached to one of the houses. The windows were small and had wooden shutters, but Dean could still see light coming from them. The square was littered with debris, most of it metal of some sort and he could see a van parked under a shed. They walked up to the door, but Castiel turned around and held up a hand. Dean stopped before bumping into his palm and raised an eyebrow.

“Maybe you should stand back for a second. He has a habit of greeting me with a loaded gun,” Castiel told him. Dean couldn’t help the laugh that escaped him after hearing that.

“I think that’s how Frank _greets_ everyone, Cas,” he assured him but Dean’s grin died down when he saw how displeased Castiel appeared. Not wanting to get into an argument about it, Dean stepped back with both hands raised and Castiel lowered his. When the angel’s back was turned Dean still grinned to himself in relief. He didn’t know Frank well, but he had been helpful (if also more than a bit strange). And even if Frank couldn’t do much he would at least be a familiar face, one that was alive. Dean looked back up when Castiel knocked at the door. It swung open almost at once but instead of a greeting Dean gave a violent start when a gun-shot rang through the air. Once, twice.

“Shit!” Dean shouted, unsure whether to take cover or to run to Castiel’s aid.

“Frank, I require your assistance.” Dean took a step forward, seeing Frank with a gun raised towards Castiel. Castiel who had blood running down his face and a new hole in his shirt, but who still managed to appear calm and imposing.

“I don’t think I do business with a Leviathan whore,” Frank said almost sweetly, “very nice of you to visit though.”

“Oh, come on Frank, put your junk away and listen to what Cas has to say!” Dean argued, stepping up to Castiel, who was now raising a trembling hand to his forehead. The blood disappeared slowly almost if Castiel’s pale and clammy skin soaked it back where it belonged. Dean looked away when he tried to peel the bullet out of his skull. Frank widened his eyes, turning the mouth of the gun towards Dean. “Woah! I’m not a leviathan!”

“What are you doing here?” he asked, suspicion in his voice, and narrowed his eyes. “And you’re not exactly trustworthy, especially not when travelling with the likes of _her_.” Frank waved his gun into Castiel’s direction and when Dean looked at him out of the corners of his eyes he could see that he wasn’t doing well. Another bullet might as well shatter every bit of composure Castiel still had left. Dean didn’t want to risk it, even though if he doubted anything dangerous could happen. Dean wasn’t an animal and Castiel knew how to throw punches.

“Can’t we just skip to the part where I cut myself to prove that I don’t bleed black goo and relocate this one inside?” Frank seemed doubtful, but he put his gun aside. Without further ado, Dean pulled out Ruby’s knife, cutting into his the flesh of his arm, carefully watching for a change in Frank’s expression. Frank seemed unimpressed, but gave a dismissive wave of the hand and turned around to walk into his house.

 “Cas, how’re you doing?” Dean asked quietly but just received a tight-lipped head-shake. Dean closed the door after Castiel and looked for Frank. His place seemed to be one big room, most of it taken up by tables pushed to the brick wall, packed with computers and their screens. There were newspapers piling everywhere and pieces of papers stuck to the wall. Frank had found himself an armchair to sit in and waved Dean over, kicking books and bottles off a low table. Dean walked over to him and took a seat in the other thread-bare armchair.

“You’re looking pathetic over there, Dove,” Frank called and Dean turned to look over his shoulder. Castiel was leaning against the door, eyes closed and he didn’t look as if he could take another step.

“Cas…?” Castiel lifted his hand to rub the side of his face, then he pushed himself off the door, slipping out of his backpack.

“I require a moment’s rest,” he said and walked past Dean, but not before Dean could grab his wrist.

“Dude, you need far more than just a moment’s rest. Just-“ It was impressive how Castiel, weakened as he was, could still manage to glare at Dean in a way that made him want to take shelter.

“You can catch up on your beauty sleep on the cot upstairs,” Frank said dismissively and Dean let go of Castiel’s hand. He watched him leave through a wooden door, but then worry got the best of him and he got to his feet. Frank gave him a kick underneath the table.

“Take a seat and spill,” he ordered, “what the heck are you doing here - with the Black Dove of all people!” Dean looked at him in incomprehension.

“The… What? Black Dove?” he asked and Frank’s eyes narrowed suspiciously. Dean grew fidgety under his glare because potential ally or not, Frank’s gun was still within reach and Dean was pretty sure he was able to die in the future. Maybe it wasn’t a great idea to tell Frank the truth about who he was (or from when he was) but he had no idea how to lie convincingly either under these circumstances. He remembered having come across the term Black Dove before; it had been written on the tag attached to the embarrassing umbrella. “You mean Ca-“ Frank shushed him immediately, his hiss carrying over the whir of the computers and the screech of the seagulls outside.

“You know the rules, muffin. Saying her name is like the code-word getting all of their attention on us!” Dean wanted to protest, because that was not how it worked, but Frank glared at him, waving both hands, “shut up until the echoes have died down!” Dean raised his eyebrow in irritation, but Frank made a slow downward move with his hand, voice calmer now, “and listen.” Dean waited but Frank kept silent. The computers still whirred and from somewhere he heard the low buzz of a fridge or something, maybe also a generator. He had thought there was no mobile network or internet anymore, but he was pretty sure that was surveillance cam material he was seeing on Frank’s screens. “I have no idea what you’re doing back here when I pull all registers to get you and your brother shipped out. And I’m pretty sure you and the sunshine upstairs weren’t exactly on speaking terms when I last saw you. You told me to never breathe a word to her where you were and now you’re here? _With her_?!” Dean wanted to cut into that, defend Castiel or ask questions, anything, but apparently Frank still thought he had to keep Dean silent. “I know you were raving mad, but this takes the cake! You know you can’t use her to get to Roman unless you’ve got a surefire way to toss them back where they came from!” Here Frank paused, leaning forwards and studying Dean with a raised eyebrow. “You _don’t_ have what you need, do you?”

“No, I don’t even-“

“Then you’ve got no business being here and letting yourself be ensnared by a pair of sad, pretty eyes.” Dean groaned, but Frank just poked him in the chest. “Oh stop it with your childish eye-roll. Do you think I didn’t see how you kept looking at her? She’s a leviathan, Dean. Don’t you dare lose focus!”

“He’s not a leviathan!” Dean protested, finally done with listening to Frank, “Okay? And I’m not here to listen to you rant about it! Heck, I don’t even have an idea what you’re talking about half of the time!” Frank crossed his arms over his chest and Dean pinched the bridge of his nose. “Listen… I’m not… from around here.” Frank didn’t even move a muscle, just looked at Dean with a less than impressed scowl, waiting for him to go on. Dean propped his elbows on his knees and leant a bit closer, just so he would be in reach of the gun if Frank thought he was not human after all. “You know that there are all kinds of monsters out there and that… he’s an angel,” Dean said, nodding his head upwards while Frank only snorted derisively. “So you shouldn’t be that shocked about what I’m about to tell you.”

“Humor me then,” Frank challenged and Dean sighed.

“I’m from 2012.” That got no reaction out of Frank. “And I don’t know how I got here, but I know I have to get back and that I should probably do something significant here but I have no clue. So the best I can do is try to figure out if there’s a way to stop the Flood before it even happens. I thought you could know where this time’s Sam and me are. Maybe they have useful info for me.” Frank at least looked slightly interested at that, but then he huffed a laugh and slapped his knees, getting up.

“Yeah right,” he said, walking over to a table and pouring himself a drink.

“Frank, I’m serious. Do you think I enjoy being stuck in this time? This is a disaster! One I might actually prevent!” Frank shot him an angry glare and set the glass back down on the table with more force than necessary.

“If that’s true, then sorry kiddo. This is your future – hiding away in dirty holes like this waiting for the end. You better start to learn how to deal with it!” Dean wiped his palms over his, leaving them over his eyes for a moment. He was tired, really tired now.

“Look, this is not the first time I’ve been to the future, okay? It’s not even the first time I’ve been in 2014. And it’s changed! I _can_ change it, Frank!” Dean argued. Frank shook his head, looking out of the shutters and Dean noticed that it had grown darker outside as if night had crept up on them.

“You, your brother and the Dove…” Frank spat out, shaking his head, but then he turned around and let himself drop back down into the armchair. Dean breathed a silent sigh of relief. “You’re the most stupid, messed up and _exhausting_ people I’ve ever met. But alright I guess.”

“Alright?” Dean wondered and Frank sighed deeply, scratching his head. “Where… Sam and this time’s me… Where are we?”

“I’ve got no clue, honestly,” Frank told him, “but about four months ago you caught the ship to Europe. I don’t care for all the details, it’s safer that way, but apparently you got in contact with some monster hunters over there.” Dean frowned; as of now he had no contacts at all to hunters outside of the States. He knew that they must exist, but as far as he was concerned, they had been pretty useless.

“Don’t you know where we went? Europe is pretty vague…” Frank shrugged, but he got up again to pull out some papers from underneath an ancient looking phone. “Can you at least say where the ship was headed?”

“All the ships are headed for Antwerpen,” Frank told him, studying the papers with their coffee stains, “it’s every fugitive’s starting point. Usually people are allowed to enter other European countries after some checks and a waiting period at the fugitive camp. I don’t know how that shit works but usually your language ability, profession and social network decide where you’ve got to try your luck.” He hummed to himself and tapped the paper. “There. The Office in Antwerpen sent note that you’ve been allowed to catch a train to Switzerland where you’ve been picked up… Don’t ask me who took you in or where you went from there. You could be anywhere, maybe you’re not even in Europe anymore, maybe you’re chilling in the Mediterranean. What do I know. You got out. Good for you.”

“Out? You don’t get _out_ ,” Dean argued loudly, “not when the world is falling apart underneath our feet!” Frank just rolled his eyes at Dean, tossing the papers back on the table and reassuming his seat.

“Sorry, boy, but as far as I know, you’re off the chess board,” he said and Dean drew his hands through his hair in frustration. “And I think you and your brother are smart enough to stay there until you’ve got a means to kill the king… Or,” Frank leant back in his chair, propping his feet on the low table, “effectively use the queen.” Dean looked up, hands in his neck.

“What?” Frank rolled his eyes towards the ceiling in annoyance. “What are you… Are you talking about-“

“Not. The. Name,” Frank warned and Dean let his hands drop into his lap, shaking his head in frustration and confusion.

“What does he have got to do with anything?” Dean wanted to know and Franks looked at him sharply.

“You know her better than I do. You know how powerful she is, you know how _dangerous_ she is. Dick Roman wants her but he doesn’t dare to get her by force – that must mean something.” Dean blinked in surprise. “She is unhappily happy about playing her role as Dove in the Flood and she gets the job done. Fine, I give her that. But I think that as far as chances at the world not ending go, she’s the best we’ve got. But,” Frank snapped his fingers, making a vague gesture towards the door Castiel had disappeared through, “she dallies. And I am stuck trying to get Europe to keep the doors open.”

“It’s apparently not the time for fighting,” Dean answered, trying to appear as calm as possible. But Castiel’s insistence that he wouldn’t want his sword back was in some manner frustrating. Cas was a soldier and had been very adamant about getting this across to Dean, so why would he prefer to be degraded to a mere messenger? “Maybe… maybe it’s just a fight he can’t fight all alone…” Frank didn’t say anything to that, but reached behind him, grabbing the bottle off the table. “Didn’t Sam and I say anything about coming back?”

“Well… it did seem like you were looking for something to bash Dick Roman’s head in. So I guess if you find it then you’ll be back.” Dean heaved a sigh. “Come on, boy! Stop moping. You can at least just clock out of here at the end of the day.” Dean shook his head, but he didn’t feel like arguing anymore. His head was swimming with thoughts and the buzz that could either be Sam chatting to him or another migraine in the making. He felt dirty, sore, exhausted and confused.

“I can’t go back empty-handed,” Dean muttered and Frank shrugged casually, no real interest in Dean’s worries.

“Go and get a shower. You’ve got the stink of the Outside on you,” Frank said after a while, pointing towards the door, but keeping his attention on an older newspaper that was stuck under the heel of his foot. Dean didn’t feel particularly offended at Frank wrinkling his nose at him. He grabbed his bag and headed for the door. The corridor beyond was dark and chilly, almost moist. The walls were cold to the touch and the floorboards creaked ominously as he slowly advanced until the corridor opened up. It was a bit brighter here, a single light-bulb illuminating the hall. All the door arches missed their doors and Dean could see a kitchen, some sort of study and a small storage room with cans and weapons. There was also a flight of stairs which Dean chose to climb. It was equally dark on the upper floor, but Dean crept along the wall, looking into the empty rooms until he found some closed doors towards the back. Checking the first he found what seemed to be Frank’s bedroom. The next door revealed a tiny bathroom. Dean breathed a sigh of relief and slipped inside, turning the rusty key in its lock with no small amount of force. It clicked shut and Dean stood in an eerie darkness, small slivers of light coming in through the shutters with additional wooden boards nailed over them. Frank and his paranoia. But at least there was light when Dean found the switch. The bathroom had dirty yellow tiles with some darker brown swirls on them, the shower curtain was chalk stained and there was mold collecting in some of the corners, but the water was running, the toilet was somewhat clean and Dean had had worse locations for taking a shower.

On his own again his mind was steering straight to Castiel, probably asleep behind the third door he hadn’t dared open, while Dean rubbed the stench of the Outside off him. He knew Castiel was pretty tough and that a dizzy spell would not knock him out, but this was different. Different to the slow bleeding away of his Grace, different to being knocked out by monsters, different to being plunged into mortality. Dean had never been able to grasp the extent to which Castiel’s powers and limitations ran, but he was sure that something must have been changed. As far as he knew, Cas had never shown signs of exhaustion just because wearing a vessel was tedious, or maybe he had and Dean just didn’t care enough to ask. Dean was frowning at himself, wiping his flattened hair backwards and switched off the water. The towel was scratchy and stiff, but Dean couldn’t care less at the moment, turning the water faucet and getting razor and toothbrush. The small mirror didn’t show much, but enough for Dean to see that he looked just like he had for a long time – tired, worn thin by worry and sleeplessness. He splashed water onto his face and didn’t look again.

* * *

                                                   

Dean turned the door knob slowly, trying to cause as little noise as possible. The door clicked open and turned almost soundlessly on its hinges. Dean let out a small sigh of relief and peered through the small crack. The room behind the door was dark and stuffy, a slim column of light from the dim corridor landed on a dusty rug and another barricaded window, not showing the slightest bit of the outside world. Dean opened the door a bit further and it gave a creak of protest, but Dean still stuck his head in and looked. The travel cot was pushed to the wall, with a heap of thin blankets on top of it. Castiel was not covered by any of them, curled up on the cot and facing the wall. Dean took one step in, sniffing the air cautiously because he did not know how much of an influence Cas’ weird biology actually had on him. He was pretty sure that it was not only the sticky sweet scent that had invited him to switch off his mind and give in to Castiel’s unexpected warmth. The odors of rich sweetness mixed with that strange olive sea-breeze hung in the room like a cloud, but it was neither overwhelming nor did it zombie-fy Dean’s ability to think. When Castiel didn’t stir and he could still recite an exorcism backwards in his head, he walked in a bit more daringly. He was close enough to touch now and he reached out his hand to put it on the angel’s head. His hair was soft, but slightly damp with sweat, curling on Castiel’s forehead and around his ears. He was warm to the touch when Dean relocated his hand to the shoulder turned towards Dean, but not alarmingly so.

“Dean…,” Castiel mumbled and even in his half-sleep he managed to sound both irritated and warning.

“Uh, hey,” Dean answered dumbly, keeping his voice low, but rubbing his palm up and down Castiel’s arm slowly. “How are you?” The angel moved his head and peered up at Dean through tousled bangs.

“Hanging on,” he said and Dean frowned down at him, “Dean… please… Get out.” Dean tried his best not to be hurt by that, nodding and getting up. Castiel sighed, a warm puff of sweet air that caused an involuntary shudder. Before Dean could leave, Castiel reached out, grabbing hold of his sleeve. He turned to his side and looked at Dean with a small smile. “Thank you for caring.” Dean nodded at him, unable to not smile in return and when Castiel let him go he left the room.

\--

Frank was giving him an unimpressed glare by the time Dean rejoined him.

“For hating her guts, you’ve got quite a soft spot for her,” Frank commented dryly and put a plate of what looked like shredded spaghetti in a watery red sauce on one of the tables. Dean took a seat next to Frank, pulling the plate towards him.

“Thanks. And I don’t hate him,” Dean said as convincingly as he could, chewing the spaghetti, “future me’s a dick, don’t take his opinion on Cas for granted.” Frank threw up his hands and groaned. “Sorry.” Frank refused to speak to him for the next couple of minutes, so Dean ate his dinner in silence, looking at the screens. From what he could see they showed normal cities, people going about their business as usual.

“I always thought that one day the government would eat us all up, turn us into zombies with not a care and no need for personal freedom,” Frank said, staring into one of his screens even though nothing interesting was happening. “But I didn’t quite think it’d be so literal.”

“Yeah… I don’t quite get how this total control crap can even work,” Dean agreed, shaking his head and Frank shrugged.

“Propaganda and fear get you a long way, kiddo. And if I got the Dove right, then there was also some kind of drug involved, some sedative that prevent people from getting too freaked when their lives are slowly being taken over.”

“ _Was_?” Dean wondered, but the thought of the leviathans using some kind of mind-numbing drug on the entire population… It was different, sure, but Dean couldn’t help thinking of the spread of Croatoan.

“The Dove probably got onto Roman’s case about it,” Frank told him and Dean snorted in disbelief. Frank raised his eyebrow at him and Dean’s sneer slipped.

“What? Dick won’t just stop doing his stuff just because Ca- just because he tells him to!” Dean argued.

“Did you think I was kidding when I said you’ve got to learn how to use her against Roman?” Frank asked, turning towards a computer and clicking around the keyboard until a couple of pictures opened up. Dean widened his eyes and pulled his chair closer to Frank’s, glaring at what seemed to be stills from a surveillance camera. He could see Dick Roman, leaning towards another figure with his hand on their shoulder. Frank clicked some more and the picture zoomed in and then sharpened. Dean drew in a breath when he saw that the figure, arms crossed over breasts, was indeed Cas. He wore similar clothes, but the form was definitely female, hair braided and fixed to the back of his head. He looked young with his defiant pose and innocent hair-do, small in his carelessly thrown together clothes and almost white in the grainy picture next to Dick in his impeccable, black suit.

“Picture was taken a couple of months ago, probably just after she had _reemerged_ or whatever she calls it… I believe she’s got some manner of influence over the leviathans, but I don’t trust her... She could strike right there, sever his head off his neck. But she doesn’t and that makes me nervous. Who knows what exactly she is and even if you vouch for her, that doesn’t make her less of one of the exact same things that are trying to make the world go down the drain.” Dean rubbed his forehead, squeezing his eyes shut.

“No he’s…” Dean lifted his hand from his forehead, trying to say something, but then he let it drop to his knees. “I don’t know, Frank.” Dean felt exhausted again, slumping in his chair and trying to ignore the picture on the screen. He wished he could say that he trusted him, he wished he could say that just because Cas wasn’t human didn’t make him suspicious. But he couldn’t. He had held on to the conviction that Cas could never follow his own agenda and look where this got them. There was no way that he could do so again, even though he believed that Castiel had been genuine in his distaste for Dick.

“I know that this hurts your poor little heart, but those are the facts even though I don’t know the context. And while your contemporary ass is somewhere sightseeing in the old world, _you_ ’re here. _You_ can get those answers, _you_ can push her.” Dean got up from the chair, turning away with his jaw firmly set. He walked over to the window, looking out through the shutters. Night had fallen fast, plunging everything into red tinted darkness.

“I can’t,” Dean finally said, “I’m running out of time here, Frank! It’s not my place to go on pushing him in either direction! It’s his call to make!”

“No it isn’t!” Frank insisted, voice loud and hard, laced with an anger Dean couldn’t understand. “You can’t expect one single entity – _non-human_ entity I might add – to decide the fate of the world. We can’t give her that power and not know how she’s ticking! Come on, you’re a hunter, you know what I’m saying! If you can’t badger it into helping then you might as well do the world a favor and kill it!” Dean banged his hand against the window frame, making the glass rattle.

“For fuck’s sake, Frank!” Frank rolled backwards with his chair, turning around to look up at Dean. Mockingly, the screens still held the pictures of Dick and Castiel. Just seeing them next to each other made bile climb up Dean’s throat and a desire for vengeance spread inside his chest. A dark and wild feeling that Dean did not want to explore.

“Listen, boy. Your darling little angel cake is the queen on the chessboard. I know that and you should get it into your skull. Whether she is the leviathans’ black queen or humanity’s white one will determine how things turn out,” he said evenly, his eyes fixed on Dean’s face.

“Oh, cut the crap with your chess metaphors! You speak as if he’s just-“

“Just a tool. Exactly. I’m speaking like she’s just a figure on the chess board and you’re just that one guy that can push her around,” Frank answered, tapping his fingers against the table’s surface. “The question is… can you play?” Dean couldn’t help but wince, turning away from Frank again. He drew both hands through his hair, trying to calm himself down with the weight of what Frank tried to push onto him. Controlling Castiel, making the decisions for him, all of his faith on his breakable shoulders. It made his head spin and his stomach coil uncomfortably. It was down to him again, down to a choice of yes or no and Dean wanted to run. He wanted to run again and not make a decision at all. The world could continue spinning without him.

“I can’t, Frank, I’m not the guy that he needs!“ Dean finally said, turning back to Frank, his hands clenching at his sides. Frank sneered, his mouth a grim line of distaste.

“Pull yourself together! You’re an immature, whiny brat, aren’t you? Afraid to take responsibility, shove it to that other guy so he can push her over the edge of the blade. When have hunters shied away from getting their hands dirty? When have hunters not picked up arms to push, maim and burn those supernatural bastards?” Dean breathed in heavily through his nose, feeling anger surge inside of him, both on his behalf and for Castiel.

“Stop it! Don’t talk about him like that!” he shouted, sending Frank a heated glare before he pulled open the door and left. He slammed it shut behind him, the noise echoing dully into the night air. The outburst had only been a short spark of contentment, but now Dean was left to fume. He walked a few steps, looking around and breathing in the ocean breeze. It was chilly here, the wind carrying little droplets of rain with it. He could hear the faint noise of water, as well as the occasional sound of a seagull’s cry. Human noise too, if he just strained his ears enough and he could see a cat sitting on top of an overturned box, eyeing him with disinterest. Dean put his hands into his pockets and stalked off. He was sure Castiel wouldn’t like him going away on his own, but he needed a bit of space to think.

He walked towards the narrow road leading away from the small yard, towards the noise of humans and what most likely was the harbor where the ship to Europe left. He didn’t get very far though because he heard footsteps coming up to him, very silent, but Dean had a feeling they were intentionally loud enough so as not to startle him.

“Shouldn’t you be in bed, Cas?” Dean wondered and heaved a sigh. He leant against the wall of a house, empty like all of them. Castiel stepped up to him, taking the space right next to Dean.

“Not with you out here,” Castiel replied, earning himself a snort from Dean. “Is everything alright?” Dean considered lying, but he was so fed up and tired that he couldn’t even bring himself to for the sake of peace.

“No. Not really,” he told him and Castiel turned his head, his expression calm and attentive. Dean raised his face upwards, looking at the starless sky. “Frank was annoying… but…”

“He told you something you didn’t like?” Castiel wondered and Dean looked at him, “about me?” Dean merely nodded. “What was it?”

“You chatting with the leviathan boss,” he said and Castiel blinked at him in confusion, “Frank told me you got him to stop brainwashing people.” Dean huffed, a mirthless grin on his face when Castiel did nothing to contradict him. Castiel no longer seemed confused, but neither was there any hint of shame on his face. “Awesome…” Dean said darkly, pinching the bridge of his nose. This was too close to that day when the truth about him dealing with Crowley was revealed. Too close and too painful.

“What do you want me to say?” Castiel wondered and Dean clenched his teeth. He turned around swiftly and brought his hands to Castiel’s shoulders, slamming him into the wall. Castiel widened his eyes for a moment before the calm and patient expression returned. It only made Dean angrier.

“Just don’t lie to me! _Never_ lie to me!” Dean hissed, his heartbeat too frantic, and Castiel closed his eyes. “What kind of deal did you make with Dick? What did it cost to get him to back off?” Castiel opened his eyes again, the blue of his iris bright as if illuminated.

“Nothing. I demanded and he complied,” he replied, far too calmly and Dean’s grip strengthened, pressing Castiel’s shoulders into the concrete of the wall.

“I don’t-“ _believe you, trust you._

“Dean,” Castiel interrupted him before those hurtful words could pass his lips, “have you forgotten what I am?” Dean opened his mouth to either reply or curse, he wasn’t sure, but Castiel answered his own question. “I was their host. I was the one that brought them back to the world, even unwillingly. Dick listens to me because he thinks I am of utmost importance to the Leviathan race.” Dean glared down at Castiel, trying to make sense of his words.

“What does Dick want from you?” he asked after a while. Castiel lifted an eyebrow, the first real expression flitting over his face since Dean had decided to get a little rough with him.

“Well… Considering how he obeys most of my wishes and sends me all sort of things in an odd manner of courtship,” he said and trailed off when Dean’s eyes widened and his grip slackened.

“ _Courting_?”, Dean asked in disbelief, “So he…”

“The King wants a Queen,” Castiel finished and Dean’s breath got stuck into his throat. He felt like throwing up again, but he just let his hands drop and stared at Castiel. He didn’t know what to say, his gaze slipping away from Castiel to the concrete wall. As Dean’s silence continued, Castiel spoke again: “He says that their prophecy decrees that the one to free them shall be the one at the King’s side.”

“That’s ridiculous…”

“Not for them… Just like the Apocalypse is not ridiculous to angels… There are myths and legends to every race out there. Even beasts have their stories,” Castiel told him, tilting his head to catch Dean’s eyes again. “The Leviathan are powerful Dean, but they do not belong on Earth. They destroy everything they touch, spreading corruption that rids them not only of their food but also of their land.”

“Then they should just get back to where they came from,” Dean hissed to which Castiel shrugged. Clearly, that wasn’t an option. Dean knew they wouldn’t go back on their own or without taking a big chunk of humanity and earth with them.

“They saw that I am able to nurture the lands so they believe that having me would stop the corruption and steady their reign on earth.”

“Would it?” Dean asked and almost flinched at the pained expression Castiel didn’t even try to hide. He quickly lifted his hands, hovering over Castiel’s shoulders before he put them against the wall on either side of his head. “No! I’m not… It’s not an option, Cas…”Dean felt almost panicked at the thought that anything he said could push Castiel to do something reckless. Not when he knew absolutely nothing about what was on the table.

“No, I don’t want it to be an option…,” he replied, closing his eyes and sighing. Dean finally moved, dropping his hands, leaning his shoulder against the wall, body turned towards Castiel.

“Cas… I want to trust you, man…,” he told him silently, “but you’ve got to be honest with me…” Castiel didn’t reply, but he looked at Dean. “If you can get so close to Dick all of the time… Why don’t you just kill him? If you’re that important to them they certainly won’t kill you.” Castiel sighed, shaking his head.

“Dean… I tried,” Castiel confessed and Dean widened his eyes in surprise, “but I don’t have that kind of power…”

“But you’re… Not even an angel blade could kill you, right? You’re probably one of the strongest beings in existence! And you can’t take down leviathans?!” Dean asked incredulously, pressing his hand against his forehead. “So we’re… This is really it? The way we’re going down? The end?”

“No, I don’t think so…,” Castiel said and when Dean looked at him he wore a small smile. Dean couldn’t believe that Castiel was smiling at him, but he couldn’t deny that it caused a tiny spark of hope. “I’ve been looking for solutions ever since I returned to awareness. I just need more time,” he told him and Dean couldn’t fool himself into thinking that Castiel was being anything other than honest about this. “This is not the first time I battle against impossible odds,” he assured him as if on an after-thought, but there was something bitter and resigned about the tone of his voice that Dean couldn’t quite place. “There are decisions I need to take… And I’m afraid to after what happened last time. I don’t want to become something like that again. I don’t want to be a creature you feel nothing but fear and loathing for.” Dean wasn’t sure what to say, whether to reach out to him with friendly but maybe not entirely honest reassurances or keep silent.

“You know better this time,” he offered instead, trying to keep his voice firm and encouraging, but Castiel lowered his head, his gaze slipping away from Dean.

“No I don’t,” he replied, “I’m still trying to find out what would best keep you safe from harm.”

Dean crossed his arms over his chest with a grimace, tilting his head back so it rested against the cool wall."

He found his eyes drawn back to Castiel's as they slowly blinked, moving from looking at the dirty floor between his feet to Dean’s face. His face was cast into shadows, bangs falling over his eyebrows and still there was that unearthly bright glint to his eyes that made them blue no matter how dark it was.

“Like last time,” Castiel continued eventually with a note of challenge in his voice, but Dean could do nothing but stare right back at him. Castiel turned his head away and Dean could breathe again, releasing a breath he hadn't realised he'd been holding into the clean ocean air. And the new silence stretched between them, thin and brittle, but it held strong.

 Dean wanted to bang his fists against the wall or shake Castiel or drink until all that distance didn’t matter anymore. There were so many things behind the words Castiel had spoken - truths and bitterness - that Dean couldn’t understand. He was sure that this was not the fault of two years missing, but one year of miscommunication and mistrust, months of guilt and longing and a future of dashed hopes and bitter rejections.

Dean knew this, knew that there was no way to fix it unless he tried to understand, no way for Castiel to speak up if he didn’t push. But the enormity of it rendered Dean mute, and the moment passed, leaving Castiel was left to squeeze his eyes shut and breathe in, exhaling shakily before he spoke again:

“So I _don’t know_ what to do apart from going on until I either find the answer or run out of time.” Dean nodded, not trusting his voice but Castiel apparently had not expected him to speak now. “It’s still early in the night… You should sleep if you mean to talk to Sam later on.” Again, Dean nodded, uttering a small “yeah” of consent, and followed Castiel back to the house with strained silence between them. Frank gave him a challenging expression once Dean got back inside, but he thankfully didn’t say anything. Castiel went on upstairs while Dean took the beer he was offered. It was chilly and Frank clanked his bottle against his.

“To all the words unspoken,” Frank said, somehow picking up on the mood without any effort, before he took a generous swig from his beer. Dean answered with more silence, drinking without tasting anything. “But there’s a limit to where silence will get you.” Dean huffed into his beer, drained the rest of it and put it back on the table. Frank’s background had changed back to its surveillance cameras, but there was still one screen that showed a picture of Castiel where he stared right into the camera with his eyes a clear blue even in the grainy picture. Dean shook his head.

“Good night, Frank.” Frank made a dismissive sound bordering on a grunt and waved Dean off.

“You better leave before dawn. There’s a ship coming and you don’t want to get into that mess,” he warned, Dean nodding and receiving another wave of Frank’s hand. Dean lost no time in leaving the room, making his way through the cold and empty corridors of the almost abandoned house. His composure wavered and cracked when he pushed the door open, but there was Castiel, lying with his face against the wall in the darkness of the small room.

Dean toed off his shoes and stripped down to his underwear and shirt, before he lifted the thin blanket and climbed onto the narrow cot behind the angel.

Castiel’s skin was warm and soft, the fragrance of his hair soothing, but he was tense when Dean slipped his arm around his waist, trying to make the most of the small space and the chill of the bare room. Dean didn’t like emotional talks and grand gestures in the quiet intimacy of a shared bed, but Castiel leant back against him, his fingers almost too tight around Dean’s wrist. Yet he muttered against Castiel’s neck:

“I’m sorry…”

Dean didn’t know why he felt no embarrassment, no reserve as he breeched this barrier between them. He didn’t know why the physical proximity of Castiel, the way he turned in his arms and pressed close to him, caused him nothing but a small pang of sadness and a bigger amount of comfort. He didn’t know why those had been the right words to speak even though they were small and empty in the face of what they must try to convey.

Dean didn’t know, but he chose not to care because this was one thing he could do. One thing to apologize for all the things he would never be able to say or do. Castiel fit perfectly into the usually empty space of Dean’s arms and he for once he was glad to have someone to hold. If only for a while.

Dean fell asleep to the sound of Castiel’s breathing evening out.

* * *

 

Dean wasn’t sure how long he had been out, but he felt well rested and comfortable once he woke. Quite an oddity in itself seeing as he couldn’t remember the last time he’d woken up like this. The room was still dark and chilly, with just enough light coming in from the corridor that Dean could see. Castiel was lying on one of his arms, but the one that wasn’t immobilized still rested on Castiel’s waist. He had rolled slightly away from Dean during sleep, but the small cot didn’t allow for much space between them. Dean almost let his eyelids drop again, breathing in his comforting but not overwhelming smell and the intimate warmth of the bed. But he kept his eyes open, studying Castiel. Maybe this might be the point to actually get worked up about sharing a bed with him again. Or about how he was being ridiculously sentimental (and unreasonable). But he didn’t feel like it.

“Cas?” he whispered, leaning a bit closer, catching the fragrance of… warm milk with honey. It was ridiculous how at home it made him feel. Castiel stirred slightly, frowning as if resisting consciousness. “Good morning.” Dean’s lips brushed the slightly stubbly cheek as he spoke, but he withdrew once Castiel turned his head and slowly opened his eyes. Castiel recognized him and reached up to rub his face, sighing deeply. “I thought you might appreciate the wake-up call. No idea when your monster convention starts.” Castiel turned enough to let Dean pull away his arm and for him to lie on his back. He tilted his head backwards, arching his spine of the bed as he stretched, closing his eyes and breathing in deeply.

“Yes… It’s close…,” he answered after a while, but when he opened his eyes again he looked almost sad. “We should get ready.”

“Okay,” Dean said, scratching his head, “I’ll get washed up and try to say good-bye to Frank.” Castiel nodded and sat up slowly.

“I will meet you outside.”


	6. Chapter 6

**Part 5**

If Frank felt sad to see Dean go then he artfully hid it behind a mocking sneer.

“Just go back to where you came from, sugar,” he told him, “while you still can. 2014 will come soon enough.” Dean raised his eyebrow at him, shouldering his bag while scanning the dark yard for Castiel’s shape. He saw him hunching in the shadows of a building, head still raised as if enjoying a gentle breeze or warm sunrays despite the chill of the pre-dawn.

“What happened to all the bullshit about manipulating Cas?” Dean rolled the name off his tongue, allowing himself some small measure of vengeful amusement at the scowl appearing on Frank’s face. Frank seemed to war with himself whether to keep to his self-imposed rules of silence or give Dean some parting words. The need to answer eventually won.

“Seeing as you are too lovey-dovey with the Dove to actually pull it off, princess, there’s not much sense in driving the point home,” he said and Dean glared at him which didn’t deter Frank in the least, “but I’ll do it anyway. You have power over her and you’d be a fool not to use it.” Frank seemed to contemplate this for a moment. “Or a coward.” This swiped the not quite smirk off Dean’s face and he lowered his eyebrows in contempt.

“I’m not a coward for not being an asshole!” Dean argued hotly, clenching his fist until his nails dug into his palms, the pain too small to take notice of.

“Well tick-tock, tick-tock, Dean.” Dean was too confused at the nonsense retort to react. “Even if you run, where do you think you’ll end up?” Frank snorted, turned around, losing no more words, and slammed the door.

The yard was silent until a flock of sea gulls called into the dark, spurring Dean into motion towards Castiel. He got up when Dean approached, shouldering his backpack and not giving any indication whether he had been listening to their short conversation.

“This way,” was all he said, his voice rough, but no longer stretched thin by fatigue and pain, and he started guiding Dean through the empty houses and alleys. Dean doubted that the problems that came with forcing his form into what would keep things between them charged but probably safe were just gone after a night’s short rest. But Dean’s mind was filled with his own dark thoughts and he just couldn’t afford to worry about the state of Castiel’s body unless his composure started showing cracks again.

They moved swiftly, but Dean recognized that Castiel was being careful while maneuvering the labyrinth of narrow back alleys and skeleton remains of houses stripped bare of doors and windows. In and out of buildings Dean could see the sky overhead; it was starless and oily, with small patches of a more natural blue-tinted grey. Dean’s watch continued being useless, but he estimated that dawn should still be a few hours away. But there was no telling what laws of nature still counted in a world falling apart under the onslaught of corroding beasts. Night on the day before had fallen far too swiftly after hours of darkness still illuminated by Dean didn’t know what. He couldn’t remember ever seeing the sun or the moon here. On a more logical level Dean was aware that this was still earth and that an entire planet wouldn’t be thrown off its course just because of a couple of prehistoric monsters, but it did get hard to be reasonable from time to time.

While Dean mulled this over and Castiel didn’t provide a distraction with his too silent steps, he became aware of a new set of noises. He didn’t dare to stop for fear of losing sight of Castiel, but he did look into the shadows of the streets they avoided, seeing the glow of cat eyes among the garbage. Human noises, Dean was sure of it now, hearing the clangs of bottles and wordless shouting. Knowing that there was a reason Castiel avoided running across someone, Dean didn’t really think about checking out what he assumed to be some kind of fight. The high pitched wail of a child made him pause though and he glared into the darkness.

“Dean,” Castiel called from further down the street, but Dean listened for the sounds of crying and shouting.

“What’s going on back there?” he asked when the noises were drowned out by a dog barking furiously.

“An outpost is not a well-developed unit…” Castiel told him, waiting for Dean to catch up with him, “People come here to flee, mostly bringing almost nothing with them. The little food they have is not rationed and distributed equally, people try to bargain and fight for a place on the ship.”

“I thought Frank organized those?” Dean asked in surprise, but Castiel started moving again and Dean followed reluctantly. Come to think of it, Frank had warned him that a ship would be coming.

“Yes, but the places are limited as is the capacity of the fugitive camps. I assume that they too have certain standards and people they are more willing to take than others. I don’t think anybody gets refused, but waiting for months in a place as unstructured as this one must be difficult,” Castiel explained. They both stepped out into a broad street, Dean guessed that it once was a high-way leading out of the city but it was too dark to read the peeling and rusting signs. Castiel didn’t seem inclined to continue this conversation and they fell into a new silence, only the scuffle of Dean’s boots on the cracked pavement resounding between them.

Dean wasn’t sure how long they were walking before Castiel changed direction, leaving the highway for a path between ruins. Not much remained of the houses here, just cracked concrete walls rising upwards. The sky was unchanged still, but there was something different about these parts.

Dean couldn’t quite put his finger on it, trying to listen for sounds past the blowing of the wind, but there was nothing but their feet on the ground. The path Castiel had chosen was uneven, leading slowly towards an elevated spot in the distance, a low hill maybe.

Castiel walked slower now and Dean’s breath came out of his mouth in transparent puffs of white, soon blown away by the chilly wind. Dean frowned. It hadn’t been that cold before, he mused, but then his hunter senses kicked in. He felt that Castiel wasn’t the only supernatural being in the vicinity and as soon as he realized this, he saw a flicker out of the corner of his eyes. He turned his head, but the shadow cast on the wall slipped off it almost too quickly for Dean to see. Next to a low hum in his ears – not only wordless whispers, but also things he couldn’t place, like laughter and the low din of bells and hollow scratching noises – more and more shadows started appearing on the walls.

“Uhm…” Castiel seemed to take no notice of it, but Dean was nervous. “Cas!” he hissed and Castiel turned to look at him. His face was cast into shadows but he looked… altered, like a strange reflection was cast onto his face. He was paler than usual, his skin slightly glossy, as if it was covered by a layer of sweat and whenever Dean shifted is eyes slightly, his hair flickered like smoky tendrils. And of course, he also threw a shadow on the wall. A very tall shadow, with wings that were too big even for the three story building this wall must once have belonged to. Its shape was human, so much was clear, but its hair and clothes were flowing around the darker part of the body like it was floating in water.

A spike of panic made Dean turn around to his own shadow, but it was perfectly normal if not slightly distorted by the undefinable light source causing this freaky shadow play.

“They won’t harm you,” Castiel said and Dean looked back at him, seeing him tilt his head, which made the strange second, transparent image thrown over his face shift, and Dean had to squeeze his eyes shut. “They won’t pass into our sphere, you will only see their shadows and hear their whispers,” Castiel assured him. “Why are you keeping your eyes shut?” Castiel sounded both confused and amused, so Dean cracked one eye open, still getting the head-tilt and the white smudges all over Castiel.

“Dude, it’s like I’m watching a 3D movie without my glasses on!” he hissed and Castiel lifted an eyebrow, his eyes flashing turquois for a second. “Am I seeing your real form flashing through or something?” He walked over to Castiel and up closer it was less confusing.

“I don’t know,” Castiel told him with a frown, but then he lifted his eyes upwards, listening or watching, Dean didn’t know. But the sky overhead had turned colors, almost looking like those north lights Sam had loved to show him pictures of. The shadows walked with them, following with a playful gait, some skipping next to Dean, some flying, some shapes human, some monstrous. But while Dean still felt wary, he wasn’t expecting an attack any time now. “What does it look like to you?”

“Uhm… Not sure… white… ish?” Dean tried, but up close he couldn’t quite see the shifts that well. Castiel huffed at that, a small smile tugging at his lips. “And the shadows on the wall are freakishly tall.”

“Well, your world is very small,” he told him, “it’s all a manner of perspective I assume.” Dean shrugged at that, trying to figure out if he could hear his brother in all of the murmuring around them, but even as the noise level rose he still couldn’t make out actual words or Sam.

“Did you also have six wings and four heads?” Dean asked and Castiel looked at him, his skin now flickering like mother of pearl.

“No, I was of a lower order,” he explained, not even asking where Dean had that from, “even when I was graced with greater power, nothing about my initial form changed.”

“So…”

“Just one pair of wings and one head. I was a soldier, no need for fancy equipment.” Dean had to laugh at that. “My order is, with the exception of cupids, the one most resembling the image of our Father among the Host… And you should know that, Dean.” Dean lifted an eyebrow in confusion, shaking his head. He couldn’t quite remember anything Cas had said or done that implied this. “You had my handprint on your shoulder… Well, it’s an approximation of my hold on your soul, fit to the limited perspective of the mortal plane, but still…” Castiel trailed off, walking around a boulder lying on their path.

“Well… I’ll probably never get to see your true form,” Dean said, unsure whether to feel regret about that. Castiel’s expression changed from amused to dismayed in the blink of an eye.

“I doubt it… I’m probably changed anyway…,” he said and Dean remained silent at that, unsure what to say. He turned his face to Dean and smiled slightly. “But as far as a human visage goes, I am not exactly displeased by what I have.” After his fist moment of confusion Dean had to grin.

“No, I think Jimmy’s probably quite hot from a chick’s perspective. And you already know my opinion on the version with boobs.” Castiel laughed, shaking his head, but then he tilted his head again. “You hearing anything?”

“I hear many things,” he answered, “but not what I’m wishing to hear. Not yet.” They arrived at the foot of a small slope, the shadows slipping off the wall to skitter over the dusty ground. “Let’s go up there.” Dean followed him, looking backwards from time to time. The walls looked like a labyrinth swarmed with dark, fluid shapes circling around the corridors. Dean didn’t quite feel like he belonged here, but the shadow forms didn’t seem disturbed by his presence. At the flat top of the hill they came to a stop, the air up here slightly warmer, but the murmurs were still present. There was a fallen over stone, or remains of a wall, but Castiel pulled out a blanket from his backpack and spread it on the smooth surface. Dean didn’t feel like commenting the colorful patchwork, especially as he now had the distinct feeling that all those pretty things had been gifts of Dick.

“We’re having a picnic?” Dean wondered as Castiel sat down cross-legged, pulling out a thermos flask and two small cups.

“ _Raunacht_ lasts for hours, Dean. We might as well get comfortable and enjoy an early breakfast,” Castiel explained, opening the top of the flask and pouring Dean a cup of what seemed to be peppermint tea.

“No coffee?” Castiel lowered his eyebrows at Dean, the strange after-image of white smoke flashing around his head like a halo made Dean back off. “Fine, I’ll take your healthy stuff.” He took a sip and frowned. “Okay, not so healthy! How much sugar do you have in there?”

“I like sweet tea,” Castiel said defensively, drinking his own tea and keeping the flask between his legs. He put the cup down and breathed out before turning his eyes to the clouds overhead.

“And now we wait?” Castiel closed his eyes and tilted his head upwards.

“Now we wait.”

* * *

 

Dean was through two dry sandwiches, various cups of tea, some holy water and Castiel was still unmoving beside him. The whispers around them had not changed in quality, even though sometimes he felt a strange presence pressing in on him, whispering noises into his mind, but nothing made sense and nothing was Sam. Dean wondered if Castiel had any luck with getting on the right frequency. For all Dean knew, he could have been chatting to his brothers upstairs for the last four or how many hours he had been sitting here and freezing his ass off. Dean heaved a sigh bordering on a groan and rolled forwards on his knees to grab for Castiel’s backpack. Surely there must be more blankets in there, or maybe a pack of M&Ms or at least some carrot sticks. When he got closer to the angel though he tensed and turned his head towards him. Castiel was still pale, maybe even more than before, and his lips were moving soundlessly and his face had lost its calm expression. His task of getting a blanket abandoned, Dean sat back up straight and shuffled a bit closer to. He could hear the rough sounds of Enochian now that he was closer, but Castiel seemed pained. Angelic conversation or not, Dean shook his shoulder.

“Cas, are you alright?” Castiel’s eyes shut even tighter. “Cas!” Castiel exhaled out a shuddering breath, letting his head drop, gasping.

“It’s silent,” he managed to say and Dean squeezed his shoulder when the next bit came out forced and too close to a sob: “They refuse me!” Dean didn’t know what to say to that, he wasn’t exactly sure what it meant. Was Cas cut off from Heaven again? He couldn’t ask because Castiel was hunching over, shaking. “Please. Please…!” Dean was shocked at the raw desperation of Castiel’s voice and moved his hand to the angel’s back, stroking and when the stream of _pleasepleaseplease_ didn’t break off, he grabbed his waist and pulled him close. Castiel choked back a sob and Dean could feel his open mouth at his collar bone. He wrapped both arms around him, hugging as hard as he dared.

“It’s gonna be okay, Cas… Everything’s gonna be okay…” Castiel gently hit his forehead against Dean’s neck, his skin sweaty and his hands grabbing for Dean’s shirt with the force of a starved animal finally sinking its claws into prey. Once Dean thought Castiel’s breathing had calmed down enough, he loosened his embrace. “Okay?” Instead of answering, Castiel pushed himself off, forcing Dean to open his arms. Castiel drew his hand through his hair, then he pressed his palms together and leaned his forehead against his fingertips. Maybe it was one last try, one last prayer to a silent heaven, but after a moment Castiel dropped his hands. He straightened, but still sat close enough to Dean for their hips and shoulders to brush.

“Have you heard Sam yet?” Castiel asked, his voice calm as if his panic attack of before had not happened at all.

“Dude, maybe-“

“There’s nothing we can do about Heaven’s silence. It’s the punishment I have to accept,” Castiel told him, “I will be fine.” Dean shook his head, reaching out his hand to give Castiel’s shoulder a squeeze.

“Yeah, you will be, don’t worry,” he assured him and while Castiel couldn’t quite manage a smile, he still looked less freaked out than before. The sadness and grief were still lurking there in his eyes though, Dean saw it even if Castiel chose to avoid looking at him.

“So?” Castiel asked and Dean took away his hand, shrugging.

“Sam’s not so communicative,” Dean told him, trying to listen for the familiar voice of his brother, but nothing got through.

“Have you tried invoking him?” Dean lifted an eyebrow, prompting Castiel to explain. “Just like when you try to get my attention.” Dean was not quite convinced that it would work, Sam wasn’t an angel after all and he was two years and who knew how many miles away from him. But it wasn’t as if they had many other options. Castiel saw Dean making up his mind and resumed his cross-legged position, closing his eyes again. Dean hoped he didn’t try to listen for a whisper of the Host, but he was glad at the semblance of privacy. Even though he was pretty sure Castiel could hear every word he spoke, maybe even read his mind.

“Uh, so this is stupid,” Dean mumbled, not even loud enough to hear over the murmur of the spirits around them, “Sam? Sammy, can you hear me?” With his eyebrows raised expectantly Dean waited for the whispers transforming into words, but nothing happened. “Sam, come on! Answer the damn phone!”

_“Dean?”_ Dean could just bite back an undignified gasp at being able to hear Sam’s voice loud and clear, as if he was sitting just beside him. He had to look to his side to make sure that Sam wasn’t actually there. _“Dean? Hello?”_ Sam sounded tired, his voice strained and Dean worried about what his younger brother was probably going through back in his own time.

“Hey, yes, it’s me!” Dean said, only half aware of Castiel inching a bit closer, though he found that he didn’t really care, he didn’t want to keep Cas out of this discussion.

_“Oh my God!”_ Sam shouted and Dean flinched, _“Dude, I thought I wouldn’t get through to you anymore! Where have you been?!”_

“Sorry, Sammy, but it’s really tough getting a good connection here,” Dean snorted, picking up on his little brother’s anxious tone. “I actually had to go to some spot where communication with other spheres or something is easiest.”

_“Communication…? You mean something like All Soul’s Day?”_ Sam wondered and Dean could imagine the interested face he must be pulling now.

“Cas called it… What did you call it, Cas?” Dean wondered and looked over at him. Castiel frowned and opened his eyes.

“ _Raunacht_.” So he was listening. At least to Dean’s part of the conversation.

“Yes, _Raunacht_ ,” Dean repeated and Sam made an appreciating humming noise. Dean wondered if Sam knew exactly what that was, he wouldn’t be surprised at all.

_“So… Cas…,”_ Sam started and Dean straightened in anticipation of finally understanding what was going on here. _“He’s not too stoned out of his mind then?”_ Okay, so not what Dean had expected. He darted a quick look over to Castiel, but he didn’t seem to have heard, or he just kept his expression neutral.

“What?”

_“Judged by your tone of voice he isn’t…,”_ Sam said pensively, _“I did hear bits and pieces over the last three days, but I wasn’t exactly sure what’s going on.”_

“Me neither, care to enlighten me? I’m stranded in the future and you don’t seem to worry that much!” Dean wasn’t sure if he should be freaked or actually proud that Sam managed to keep a level head through this strange situation. They had managed to get through the Chronos case with relatively little injuries sustained after all, so maybe he shouldn’t be surprised.

_“I was going to pull you back! Dean, you know that!”_ Sam argued. And that explained some of Sam’s lack of frantic talking, but not a whole lot of it.

“I don’t know shit, Sam! I woke up here with no idea where I am or how I got here! If Cas hadn’t found me I’d probably be dead by now!” Dean told him, trying to reign in his irritation, but he found it harder and harder to do.

_“My my, so he really lost a chunk of his memory,”_ another voice said and Dean tensed, even though he knew that the owner of said voice was nowhere in their vicinity. _“This is really going smashingly, isn’t it.”_

“What the hell?!” Dean hissed and felt fingers closing around his wrist. He turned his head to the side, seeing Castiel’s concerned expression. He still had the halo of flickering smoke circling around his head and his skin continued glistening, but the warmth and firmness of his fingers calmed Dean.

_“We’ve discussed this all, Dean. Remember?”_   Sam’s calm, but patronizingly patient voice called Dean back to the actual conversation.

“No I don’t! That’s the problem!” Dean hissed, “I’d appreciate if you tell me what’s going on!” There was a moment of silence before the whispers around Dean were drowned out by his brother’s voice again.

_“We were looking for ways to kill leviathans, but there seems to be absolutely nothing of help. So we thought that maybe the Colt would work if it were enhanced. Seeing as we lost it and had no time to go look for it, we assumed that doing a bit of time traveling was the best choice,”_ Sam explained, still keeping his calm while Dean was seething with nervous energy.

“That’s a shit plan! The Colt didn’t work on Lucifer, it didn’t even come up against Eve, who was a Purgatory monster. And the leviathans are THE Purgatory monster! What the hell, Sam!”

_“Yeah, so we called Crowley for help,”_ Sam answered, but Dean got momentarily distracted by Castiel’s fingers squeezing Dean’s wrist almost painfully, _“and he came up with the option of enhancing it with something that they might be vulnerable against. Not much lore to back it up, at least not in the places he could get to he claimed, but it’s not that implausible.”_ Dean didn’t say anything, but looked down at Castiel’s pale fingers around his wrist.

_“The Leviathan are creatures of tradition, myth if you want. Even though they seem like complete anarchy when let loose, they are somewhat predictable,”_ Crowley said in that superior tone of his and it made Dean sneer, even though his attention was straying. _“They wouldn’t have gotten anywhere without the treacherous little angel. Castiel is their Host, their Portal and whatever other more disturbing terms they use.”_

“So you just decided to use his blood for enhanced bullets? You know that’s ridiculous?” Dean looked over to Castiel, who was pale and wide eyed and tight lipped. His entire frame was shaking and flickering. “That wouldn’t work, right?” Castiel lifted his head in a jerky move, staring at Dean with a look even more disconcerting than the one he wore after not receiving any word from his brothers.

_“Ah, so Cas’s with you? Say hi to him from me. Try not to get any STDs from him, Dean, who knows where the pretty little whore’s been to. Remember, you’ve still got to uphold your end of the bargain.”_ Castiel made a very small, but broken noise, his eyes slowly narrowing. Dean knew very well that this was not boding well. Sam was saying something, but Dean couldn’t listen to him. Couldn’t afford to listen to him with the dangerous energy that started to tense up Castiel’s body. His fingers loosened around Dean’s wrist and then he let go of him as if his skin burned him.

“You’re…,” Castiel started, his voice a shaky growl and his eyes flashed liquid turquoise, shining just like his skin, a fractured white that caught the light of dawn in a display of muted colors. “Unbelievable!” He jumped up and before Dean could shout something Castiel was already stalking off, swiftly descending the slope. Dean got to his feet after the first moment of surprise.

“Cas! Cas, hey!” Castiel didn’t stop or slow down, so Dean wanted to run after him, but it was Sam’s voice that held him back.

_“What’s happening?”_ He sounded worried, with that edge of tiredness again and Dean stared after Castiel, disappearing among the shadows, his wings’ shadows huge forms against the walls.

“It’s… Cas. He just walked off,” Dean said, sitting back down, feeling every bit as tired as Sam sounded. Even though Dean had felt confusion at first, he had a pretty good idea what had got him so worked up.

_“Is he alright?”_ The worry on Sam’s voice was genuine and warm and even though Dean didn’t want to admit it, it actually came as a surprise. It shouldn’t Dean realized, but it did.

“No.” Dean couldn’t quite bring himself to lie, “but we haven’t got the time to deal with that right now. I don’t know how long this connection holds and I’d rather get some answers.” Sam was silent for a moment, but then he sighed and Dean knew he had won this.

_“In the very broadest of terms Crowley and us figured out that we had to get our hands on Cas’ blood, no matter what. There’s a pretty good chance that the Colt with specific bullets actually could work on Dick. Comparing to the little we have to fight them it’s at least something.”_ Dean couldn’t quite argue with that bit of logic. They had done stupider stuff on a less likely chance of success.

“And the time-travelling?”

_“That was your idea, Dean…,”_ Sam said with a slightly amused snort. _“Just after the thing with Chronos you’ve started thinking about using it in some way.”_ Right, he had thought about a lot of what if scenarios, but he knew well enough that going through time wouldn’t help them change anything. And they were fresh out of time commanding gods and Winchester friendly angels, so his thoughts had just been that – mere musings on what could have been.

_“You actually surprised me with your suggestion,”_ Crowley spoke up again and Dean felt uncomfortable even hearing him, _“it was kind of smart, coming from you.”_ Dean didn’t even try to grace that with an answer. “ _Because you figured out a way to get to someplace where both Castiel and the Colt were waiting for you to grab. That and a talk-active archangel who might actually know his lore.”_ Dean frowned, but then he groaned when he understood what Crowley was saying, placing his palm over his face, shaking his head. The pieces were fitting themselves together, but Dean still didn’t like what he was coming to know.

_“We planned it all, Dean. We got Crowley to dig up a spell that used the residue energy that stuck to you thanks to traveling with Chronos as well as the little bit of Chrono’s blood we had on the weapon that killed him. We prepared all the necessary items for the time and place you were traveling to and we ran it through with Atropos and she gave it her okay.”_

“Atropos?” Dean asked, not sure if the name was supposed to ring a bell or if she was some of the people the trip had knocked out of his mind. Sam however guessed his silence right.

_“Fate, the one that tried to kill us during the unsinking of the Titanic.”_ If Sam would be here, Dean’d show him an incredulous expression, but as he wasn’t he had to do with staring at the shadows dancing around him.

“How the hell did you get that scary bitch to help us?!” Dean demanded, his voice shushing the whispers for a split second.

_“I didn’t…_ You _did… You said we were trying to clean up Cas’ mess and she seemed to be in favor of that. Apparently she didn’t like how the tapestry had turned out.”_

“No surprise there, but what did she say? Is that why I have that stupid gold thread?” Dean asked and pulled his bag towards his feet, seeing the box that held the thread. Well, if she gave it willingly, at least Dean didn’t have to fear for his life once he got back.

_“Yeah… She said that going into a potential future that had become obsolete should be safe enough, but she gave you the thread to take items back with you to not disrupt the flow of time more than we already have, should things not quite work out like we wanted it to.”_ Dean snorted at that. He unrepentantly didn’t care one bit if he messed up the pretty little tapestry, not even if it had been eons in the making. _“Dean, do you really not remember any of this?”_ Sam seemed careful and slightly weary when he asked this, but try as he might, Dean couldn’t recall anything Sam or Crowley had told him.

“No! I mean Cas and I kind of figured out what I was supposed to do here, but that was pretty much all guesswork,” he confessed and Sam heaved a deep sigh. Dean wondered if him forgetting was really bad for some reason or another. Maybe a nasty side effect of the ritual that had long lasting and probably lethal consequences. But Sam didn’t seem antsy and worried, merely exhausted.

_“Okay, but you can still get Cas’ blood and the Colt, right?”_

“Fuck, no!” Dean shot back, brows creased in a displeased frown. “Maybe this wasn’t clear to you, but I’m in the actual future. Our future!”

_“What… No… Dean, Cas is dead…”_ That soft, pitying tone really pinched something inside of Dean, painfully, forcefully, but he knew how to ignore these pangs of despair and loss. Especially now that he actually knew Castiel would return to them if he just made it back somehow. Dean wanted to shout at Sam that Cas was there somewhere, in their time, lying on the bottom of a lake or suffocating in the black masses. He was _there_ and they weren’t doing anything. The immense feeling of panic and guilt almost punched the air out of Dean’s lungs. _“Dean?”_ But he couldn’t say anything, not when Crowley was listening. Who knew what he’d do to him in the unlikely case he’d find him, so Dean kept silent.

“Okay, so an altered 2014 then. I guess we did aim for the Croatoan Apocalypse Zachariah had showed me, right? Cas is here, I’m sure he’ll donate some blood for the good cause, but I doubt I can get my hands on the Colt…” Sam made a pensive noise, while Crowley growled something that Dean couldn’t make. Not that Dean cared much about it, but Crowley was still bad news, especially if he wasn’t there to protect Sam.

_“Then… maybe Cas knows something. He’s an angel, he will probably know something about Leviathan…”_ Sam suggested after a while and Dean fought the urge to tell him just how much he knew, but how little they could still do. Crowley cut his efforts short:

_“I doubt that’s useful, you best bleed him dry and return. Sam can’t hold the connection for much longer.”_ Even though Dean wanted to hit him with a litany of curses and a few well aimed utterances of _Christo_ just to spite him, what he had last said made him pause.

“What? What does that mean, Crowley?” he demanded to know, but was met with silence “Sam?”

_“Look,”_ Sam started with a sigh _, “we’ve been over this before. Time traveling without an angel is almost impossible… I’m serving as an anchor to our time and as long as I keep the connection between us I can pull you back.”_ Dean knew exactly that there was more to it, otherwise he and Sam wouldn’t have felt the need to argue about it. It was Crowley to supply more information and by the tone of his voice he rather enjoyed it:

_“Sam hasn’t slept for more than 3 days. I wonder how much longer he can go on like that. He’s already starting to fidget. I wonder what kind of daydreams your dear little brother is having.”_ Dean froze, catching on to what Crowley was implying.

“Sam… Don’t do that!”

_“I can’t! I’ll lose you!”_ Sam shouted right back and Dean gnawed his lips. _“Dean, we only managed to send you because we’re having a strong connection! If it’s shut down you’ll be stranded there!”_

“You won’t lose me! Cas can send me back!” He tried to argue because he could trust Castiel about this, there really was no merit in keeping Sam awake past his limits.

_“No, I can hold out. Like we planned. Just be ready at noon,”_ Sam insisted and Dean felt that usual spark of annoyance at his little brother’s defiance.

“Sam, I’m being serious. Cas _will_ send me back!”

_“And I said no! I’m not going to trust in your assumption that Cas still has the power to do that!”_ Dean suppressed a wince because this was more in the vein of distrust he expected Sam to feel towards Castiel.

“Jesus, Sam! I’m not being delusional, Cas has got the mojo!” he assured him, shaking his head and kicking at the ground in frustration. With only sound to go with, he couldn’t even glare at Sam to convey how serious he was about this. Every now and then a look alone from Dean would shut Sam up, but not like this.

_“Whatever loverboy, just get the blood, grab anything of value and get back. I’m not the one being crazy over here, but I can almost see Lucifer reflected in Sam’s eyes,”_ Crowley spoke up in a bored tone and Dean clenched his teeth until his jaw hurt.

_“Crowley, shut up. It’s not that bad, Dean. Seriously. But I’m honestly getting tired of coffee, the one they have here is disgusting.”_ And that was it, Sam easing the tension out of his voice to convince Dean that everything was going to be alright, that his decisions on this were for the best. But Dean wasn’t convinced and he was pretty sure that he had left his own time with a similar cold feeling in the pit of his stomach. But he couldn’t do much against it other than being ready by noon.

“Well… Okay, Sammy… I’ll hurry up,” he said with a sigh, rubbing his throbbing forehead. The headache had crept up on him, like so often when he had to deal with disconcerting matters.

_“Good… And…”_ The faltering almost stutter of Sam’s voice made Dean raise an eyebrow. _“I guess say hi to Cas for me… And… it probably won’t matter to him in your timeline, but I’m… I’m sorry and I miss him.”_ Dean widened both eyes, stunned into silence, but then he started gnawing his lips when the cold feeling in his stomach slowly melted.

“O… Okay. I’ll tell him.”

_“Just get back in one piece, Dean. Remember, noon. Just get to wherever you landed…,”_ Sam told him, Dean slowly nodding, more to himself.

“Yeah… And if it gets bad… Just go to sleep. Please trust me on this.” Sam agreed reluctantly, but didn’t say his good-byes before coaxing a promise out of Dean to tell him everything about his trip once he got back.

And just like that Sam’s voice faded out, leaving Dean in the dim light of dawn breaking, smudges of color appearing in the east. Everything was tinted in a subdued reddish hue, as if everything from the ground, to the remains of the city and the ocean was made out of clay and rust. The voices of _Raunacht_ were still whispering to him and the insubstantial figures plunged in and out of the cool shadows. It seemed to be coming to a close, but Dean didn’t care. He didn’t want to sit here and wait as the echoes of lives long spent faded around him and the shadows where drowned out by insubstantial light. As quickly as possible Dean collected all their equipment and made the way down the hill. He dumped everything in a small space between fallen stones, where Dean assumed it to be protected well enough both from seagulls and the unlikely fugitive. Then he started moving again.

* * *

 

Maneuvering between the ruins hadn’t been difficult at all with Castiel as a guide, but on his own Dean realized that he was quickly losing his sense of direction. He tried to tell himself that the urgency forcing his quick steps was only caused by him running out of time but he knew too well that it had far more to do with the last look Castiel had shot him before running.

It took him a while of aimless stumbling around until he noticed the shadows on the walls were not moving. He looked at them in wonder, seeing the different shapes starting to merge, divide and change while he studied them. When his eyes were focused on them they started moving again, all washing over the wall in one direction, continuing on to the next, then turning a corner, with a few straggles staying behind and actually waving at him. Dean started moving again, following the trail under the whispers of the spirits. A sudden scream, more like an angry and frustrated roar, made Dean almost stumble over his feet in shock. Even though Dean was pretty sure Castiel wasn’t in any pain, he still ran, the spirit shadows keeping up with him. He came to a stop when he got into a tight space encased by walls of what might have once been a row of factory buildings, and fallen stones, enormous shadows covering all of the walls until they ended in what little Dean could see of the sky. Castiel was standing facing the wall to Dean’s left, but his head was turned to show wide, blue eyes staring at him, with an emotion Dean had hoped never to see in the angel’s eyes again.

It was… Accusation, anger, disbelief, grief, pain and so much more an angel wasn’t supposed to be able to feel. _Cas_ was not supposed to feel. Even though Dean’s initial reaction would be to muster some of his own righteous anger as a wall of defense or maybe run because pissing Cas off was still potentially lethal, he just tensed his shoulders and stepped closer. Castiel’s shadows shifted, the head with its wisps of long, floating hair jerking and the chest area expanding quickly while the wings flared and would have smothered Dean as they reached closer to the only exit of the small space if they had been more substantial. Dean had noticed that none of the _Raunacht’s_ other participants was coming any closer, so maybe Dean should heed their warning, but he had done his fair share of reckless things when it came to Cas. So he approached some more, Castiel turning to face him and in the strange light coming from above he looked… ethereal for a lack of any better word. Dean was no poet, especially not when faced with Castiel struggling to keep his emotions at bay. Struggling but failing. He kept darting his eyes away from Castiel’s white-washed face, to the form reflected on the walls. While Castiel kept himself rigid, wide eyes fixed on Dean with an alarming intensity, the shadow’s hands twitched, the long fingers bending, forming fists before unclenching its hands again.

“Cas… Hey,” he said and almost took a step back again when the familiar scent of sweetness and salt intermingled hit his nostrils. Despite this Castiel must have still controlled himself well when even the few meters between them didn’t send an overwhelming wave of desires his way. When Castiel’s mouth pressed into a thin line Dean stepped closer until he was an arm length away from him. He did reach out, but the wings of the shadows beat nervously and Castiel’s shoulders tensed even more, his posture getting just a little bit stiffer. It was enough to signal Dean that being touched right now was not something Castiel wanted. “Okay… I get that you’re angry and that’s-“

“ _Angry_?” Castiel called, silencing Dean instantly. Dean lifted his hands helplessly, unsure what to say. He wasn’t here to feed Castiel the words he needed to hear and hell, there probably wasn’t that easy solution that had come to him in what seemed an eternity away. A kiss whispered to the back of Castiel’s neck wasn’t going to cut it this time, no matter how sincere he was about it.

So this was it. The place and time both Dean and Cas had been pushing and pulling for even though Dean had wished to never get there. He would rather let these wounds rest, covered and festering, yes, but he doubted they could be healed by clawing them open again. Once, dark with grief, despair and alcohol, Dean would have liked to plunge his hands into the cavity of Cas’ pale chest, rip and tear and see that there was _something_ \- something that was worth all of this.

Now he knew that Cas was far from empty, that he had plenty of soul and plenty of heart. Just different, just Cas. And that didn’t make this tear between them hurt any less. So Dean had no intention at all to try to prevent this any longer, not when Castiel’s nostrils were flaring and his eyes were too moist. But it didn’t mean Dean would just roll over and let him stomp over him in his anger. This dead-end was _their_ doing, it had taken the both of them to dig themselves this deep into a situation that seemed more than difficult to get out of. But he would let this happen.

“Okay,” Dean finally said and lifted his hands in a manner of defeat, but didn’t say more. Castiel’s eye-color flashed its unfamiliar turquoise again before resettling into the intense blue he was far more comfortable with.

“You’re working with Crowley!” Castiel shouted and Dean raised his shoulder as if bracing against a storm. Dean knew Castiel’s anger to manifest as hisses and whispers, low and dangerous. He was unsure how to interpret this loudness when it wasn’t accompanied by bloodied fists.

“Yeah, so we’re all out of options with the leviathans,” Dean argued, trying to keep his voice at a reasonable level but Castiel just widened his eyes, opened his mouth and shook his head with an expression of unbelieving amazement. “Pardon me if we have to take a bit more drastic measures for survival!”

“Hah!” It was almost a laugh and Castiel stepped away from Dean, hand reaching up to scratch between his eyebrows, his mouth still stretched into a grim smile. “And what about my circumstances? Those did not warrant drastic measures?”

“Raphael and his crappy sequel to the Apocalypse?” Dean asked with a mirthless snort and Castiel dropped his hand with a bewildered look on his face. “You know what drastic measures to take when trying to prevent an Apocalypse! You gather Team Free Will and deal with it! Come _on_ , Cas!” Castiel actually laughed at that, his eyes still zeroed in on Dean. It was disturbing enough for Dean to relapse into silence and wait for Castiel to speak.

“Yes, _when crap like this comes around, we deal with it_ ,” was what eventually left Castiel’s lips and he raised his fingers to wiggle them in the air. Dean froze when he recognized the words, breathing in loudly through his nose. “ _Like we always have. What we don't do is we don't go out and make another deal with the Devil._ ” By the time Castiel was done with citing Dean, and looking freakishly pleased even though that edge of barely concealed anguish was still there lurking just like his mother-of-pearl skin, Dean was grinding his teeth.

“Oh, don’t start that!” he hissed, even though he knew exactly what Castiel was doing and not even able to fault him for it. Castiel lifted his hands, tapping one to his pale mouth, which flashed a warmth-deprived blue when the fingers pressed against the chapped lips.

“Pardon _me_ , Dean. Wasn’t that what you said?” Castiel asked with an almost innocent head-tilt, giving Dean the feeling he was trapped in a cage with a vicious beast pushed into the breakable shell of a human being. And he kind of was, until the desperation was back in Castiel’s voice. And this was real and tangible, which Dean could deal with better than Castiel acting things out for the sake of driving his point home. “So why did you?”

“We couldn’t deal with this, Cas. And you know it. You unleashed something into the world that gnawed it up in a matter of months. You stand upon the ruins of it!” Dean didn’t feel any satisfaction to see the guilt flash in Castiel’s eyes. “You left us no other choice but to go to Crowley!” Castiel turned back to face Dean sharply, glaring at him.

“Yes! Of course! Things bigger than you, terrifyingly more powerful than you threaten to squash you and everything you decided to stand for. So you go to the next best more powerful entity.” Castiel slightly bowed in Dean’s direction, both of his hands pointing to his chest and it was so oddly human Dean could do nothing but stare. “Me, oh, but _I’m dead_! So how about a demon? How about the King of Hell? How about Death himself?” Castiel was shouting at him, despite their close distance and Dean understood. He understood the fury between them, the language of violence that Castiel had learnt to speak because it was the only one Winchesters tended to understand. After all had failed, Castiel was resorting to human means of coping. Dean spoke this language well, but Castiel shouting and the words he spoke still sent a shiver down his spine.

“Yeah, yeah exactly that! You gotta use your weapons!” Dean winced just after the words had left his mouth but taking them back was impossible, especially as the look on Castiel’s face cracked and his voice lowered itself down to a hiss:

“You do and I don’t?!” Dean didn’t quite know how to answer to that, so he shuffled to the side, to lean against the wall with his arms crossed defensively.

“Not if you have to use your friends as a decoy to get them! Not if you have to lie!” Castiel regarded him with an assessing look, but he lowered his head in a small nod.

“Good, I agree. It was wrong of me to lie to you,” he said and Dean didn’t quite know what to do with this unexpected and calm concession thrown into this argument. “But the reasons you turned on me is not because I lied.”

“No, it’s because you went behind our backs, Cas! You don’t do that!”

“And you don’t banish your friends when they’re almost out of Grace,” Castiel spat right back and Dean shut his mouth in surprise. He almost asked if he was still sore about that trick, but Dean kept his tongue in check. “And we could list all the ways you wronged me and all the ways I wronged you. But they don’t matter, I forgave you for them and at this point I really don’t have the energy to care whether you forgave me from them too.” He stopped and took a breath that allowed Dean to think about the things that Dean wasn’t sure he had forgiven. Opening purgatory, the shattering of Sam’s wall, that complete betrayal by someone Dean had held close. “What this is about, Dean, is that you’re a hypocrite.” Dean raised both his eyebrows and he let his hands drop to his hips. He pushed himself off the wall and stepped closer to Castiel with a furious look.

“ _What_?” he hissed and he should have expected Castiel not to back off, but to meet his glare head on.

“You are good, Dean. But you are sickeningly self-righteous,” Castiel told him, narrowing his eyes and Dean wondered how long that venom had bubbled within Cas. “You tell me not to work with Crowley, but here you are, doing it yourself!”

“Dammit, Cas!” Dean cursed, “I told you why we had to do it!”

“And I begged you to understand why _I_ had to do it!” Castiel roared and even though it was merely a sound pushed through human vocal cords, it shook Dean to the very bones. “But you were too outraged at the very thought that I could act independently of the leash you’ve kept on me to even try to understand!”

“ _Leash_?! No, I’m not even _touching_ that one!” he shouted right back, hitting his palm with his fist in an attempt to channel his exasperation somewhere. “I was outraged because you were about to do the single-most stupid thing since God created the leviathans!” Dean was well aware how that was a gross exaggeration aimed to pierce and crack. But Castiel just bit his lips, forcing that deadly paleness back into them. “I told you not to and you did it anyway! God, Cas! How could you have been so stupid!!”

“Yes, how could a primordial being be so stupid and not do what a single mortal wants it to do?!” Castiel asked, his voice grating on Dean’s nerves when it was on that unbearable balance between shouting and growling, with Dean never quite knowing what Castiel would do next.

“If that primordial being is being a child about realizing what it means that actions have consequences then it can shove its superiority right up its ass!” Dean knew that he was being an immature idiot about it because Castiel did have at least some semblance of a point. But primordial being or not (and what was Dean supposed to do with that?), it was not his fault that angels didn’t know any better than humans did. It was not his fault that angels made bad calls, it was not his fault that Castiel made about the worst call anybody could.

“I do know, Dean. I know what it costs me to keep on choosing you,” he answered calmly, which took some of the wind out of Dean’s sails, but not the burn of the frustration at having to fight this out with words instead of fists and silence. He hated Cas stressing how everything he did was somehow all for Dean. He really didn’t need even more weight on his shoulders and sure, yes, this was one of the most selfish reasons out there and Dean knew he wanted Cas to make the decisions he would make. Not because Dean wanted them, but because they were the right ones! He didn’t need to be Cas’ solution for everything. He didn’t need to be Cas’ _excuse_ for everything.

“Okay, fine. Good if you know, but you still made the wrong choice,” was all what Dean could force through the emotions that started closing off his throat. He wasn’t sure if he was angry, disappointed or just so damn tired.

“Why do you keep stressing this, Dean?” Castiel uttered a defeated sigh and even the skin on his hands was covered with that shifting layer of white when he raised them to rub his face.

“Because this is what this entire argument is about, isn’t it? That’s what _any_ argument is about! There’s just no point in discussing it,” Dean told him wearily, unsure whether they were done now. If the drooping of the feathers Dean could see displayed on the wall was any indication the anger seemed to be momentarily replaced by resignation. It wasn’t where he had wanted to push Castiel.

“No it isn’t!” Castiel snapped, glaring at Dean through his fingers, before he let his hands drop again. “I believed that if anybody would understand how many bad decisions I’d make in an attempt to save those I care most about it’d be you!” Dean blinked at him in surprise, taking in the still rigid line of Castiel’s body, how he grabbed the fabric of his pants as his fists clenched at his sides.

“I get that, Cas! But what you did-“

“-was the only option I had!” Castiel cried and he turned away from Dean to slam his palms flat against the closest wall. It didn’t shatter underneath them, but the violet slapping noise still shouted pain. “ _I had no choice!”_ Castiel’s shoulders were shaking and the bitter smell of the sea, of salt and algae drifted over to him. His composure was obviously cracking, but it wasn’t the dangerous sweetness that reached Dean. He was not sure what that meant, but it was alarming.

“Cas-“

“If I hadn’t made that deal with Crowley, I would have been executed and this world would be burning up under the pressure of another Apocalypse!” Castiel’s loud voice drowned out any plea for a break Dean had wanted to voice. “When I returned from the Cage you had not been where I expected you to be and I thought Sam not joining you meant that he wanted you retired!” Castiel’s breath came in shuddering gasps, too close to sobs, but still laced with an edge of pain whose source Dean wasn’t sure of. The washed-out light of morning was slowly chasing the shadows away, both those of the spirits and that of Castiel. Castiel’s gasp and stinging words were crispy clear in the almost silence that started to settle.

Dean took a step closer and then another one and Castiel didn’t resist the hand that came to rest upon his shoulder blades.

“Cas… Easy…”

“No! _Shut up_ Dean!” Castiel hissed and raised his head enough to shoot a look at him that was both desperate and angry. Surprise momentarily blocked out the uncomfortable mix of old anger and worry, but Dean kept his hand on Castiel’s back and his eyes on his face. “You always want me to listen to you! Listen to the Righteous Man making the decisions! Listen to the fearless leader as he roars out his dead-trap commands! Listen to the big brother because obviously he knows best!” Dean couldn’t even say anything to that, Castiel’s eyes boring into his, willing him to get it. “Just this _once_ , care enough to listen to me!”

“Fine! I’m listening!” Dean shouted back, couldn’t keep his voice any calmer or steadier when Castiel’s words seemed to shake the ground they stood on.  He dug his nails into the fabric of Castiel’s shirt. Worry gnawed at him stronger than any anger could and he slipped his hand to Castiel’s shoulder, trying to move him, but he wouldn’t budge, his eyes still fixed firmly to Dean’s.

“You asked me where I was, Dean, when I could have made the other choice,” Castiel said and Dean had a moment of confusion before he could place it. “I was there, Dean… I wanted to tell you everything. But you were retired. I thought you were happy.” Castiel’s eyes were pleading, swimming with pain before he averted them to shake his head. “I wasn’t thinking straight so I went to ask you for help, selfishly, foolishly. Because there was nothing you could have done, nothing I could achieve but to pull you right back into a war we had close to no chance of winning.” Castiel slowly moved his head again, looking at Dean from the corner of his eyes. He could almost feel Castiel’s grief and regret, monumental and reverberating deep within his own being. Dean thought about the year he spent with Lisa, trying to pull a white blanket over all the wounds and remnants of a life that had shattered with Sam’s sacrifice and Castiel’s disappearance. A normal life had been ill fitting and suffocating, but he had eventually broken himself apart enough for the rest of him to fall into the spaces Lisa and Ben provided. Would he have left that life behind if Castiel had appeared before him, all thunder and lightning again with more work to do in the name of all of those who would never know of all the things Dean sacrificed? Would he have pulled off that blanket to face more crushing pain without Sam there to fight for?

“I’m sorry,” Dean finally forced through his lips, managing to turn Castiel enough to face him, “that I wasn’t there for you. But you could have been honest when you noticed I was hunting again.” Castiel shook his head, but he didn’t deny it.

“You had no time for my problems,” he said instead and Dean squeezed his too bony shoulders until Castiel flinched.

“That’s not true,” Dean argued sharply but when Castiel looked up at him he hesitated.

“How many times have you called me to Earth and told me to solve your issues? How many times have you told me to give your own concerns priority?” he wondered and the lack of venom in his voice, the total disheartened resignation made Dean’s knees weak and his stomach coil. “Dean, you didn’t care to understand the enormity of the war I was fighting.” Castiel actually lifted his hand now, warm and soft as it cupped Dean’s cheek. Dean didn’t know what to do with such gentleness in the face of the things Castiel told him. All the tension in Dean’s stomach, he felt like vomiting. But Castiel’s palm was warm and loving, just like the look in his eyes, even though it was pained. “I didn’t want to see you having to break under another Apocalypse. Not again… So I made a deal with the devil.”

“Cas…”

“And it was wrong and in my desperation I hurt you... But you’re alive,” he said, voice barely above a whisper as his fingers stroked Dean’s cheek.

Dean couldn’t do this anymore. He swatted Castiel’s hand away and for the fraction of a moment, he saw the heartbreak in the angel’s eyes, but then he pulled him close, one arm around Castiel’s middle, grabbing the fabric of his shirt, the other burying itself in soft, dark hair. The choked sound that followed the tight hug might have come from Castiel, but Dean knew it had been his own and he pressed his cheek against the side of Castiel’s face.

“I get it…,” he told him, drawing his hand through Castiel’s hair in what he hoped to be soothing, but he couldn’t deny that it was mostly to anchor himself. The press of Castiel’s face into the crook of his neck wasn’t enough, the solid warmth of him against his heaving chest wasn’t enough.

“I had to stay alive,” Castiel went on explaining, the words a constant stream of whispers breathed against Dean’s skin. “I had to make that deal. I hoped you’d understand why I did it. If you can’t forgive me-“ Castiel stopped himself to exhale a hot and fragrant puff of air that tickled the short hair on Dean’s neck. “You’ve got no right, Dean, to judge. Not this, not you.”

“Cas, I get it,” Dean repeated, more firmly now and it was enough to silence Castiel, but he didn’t dare to let him go. They stood like this as the small space around them got lighter, Dean breathing in the heat and smells rolling off Castiel’s body and closed his eyes to the bare concrete walls. _Raunacht_ had ended; the planes had come together and now drifted apart again, having said their whispers of the past. And Castiel was still here, his shadow human again, but he had spoken. Dean didn’t know from what depths Castiel had pulled the words that now lay between them for him to process. They were not good at that, at establishing a way of expressing how they really felt. Not with words, never with words. Cas and he… It had worked in the past, somehow, but not enough Dean realized. There was depth, there were shadows and ravines to Castiel, unfathomable and hidden behind what Dean had come to see him as.

And he did get it. He understood that he had stopped seeing Castiel as a being that was able to change in any way but underneath the shaping power of Dean’s hands. He had stopped understanding and caring when Castiel had been at the very start of experiencing the world as something that Dean thought to be more human and less monster. Castiel had grown and Dean had missed it all because he’d been too stubborn and fixated on what Castiel was supposed to be to acknowledge it.

“If you do,” Castiel said, his voice surprisingly steady and he extricated himself from Dean’s hold to narrow his eyes at him. “Then never again demonize me for something you’ve done too and will do again.”

Dean nodded at him, even though he wouldn’t quite agree that an angel, especially Cas, shouldn’t be held to a higher moral standard when it came to doing dumbass shit. Dean was too exhausted by Castiel trying to explain himself to him that he couldn’t be angry though. What would have happened, Dean wondered, if he had listened to Castiel that day in Bobby’s study after their fall out? Or afterwards, when Castiel asked him to stand by him. Dean reached up his hand to rub it over his mouth. He’d said no. God, how could he have said no?

“We should have figured it out,” he said, squeezing his eyes shut to take a deep breath. “I should have listened to your side of things. But I abandoned you. I’m sorry.”

“Thank you,” was all Castiel said and Dean opened his eyes to look at him. He wasn’t sure what kind of expression he expected to find on Castiel’s face, but it probably wasn’t the gentle, rueful smile he received. It left Dean breathless and searching for words longer than he’d care to admit.

“Uh, okay. Now that we have established that I am an asshole and we both have serious communication issues…” Dean tried for a lighter tone, still struggling to stomach everything that had happened during the early hours on what seemed to be his last day in 2014 for the next two years. He trailed off and groaned, pulling the still smiling Castiel into another hug. “Stop looking at me like that!”

“Like what?” Dean heard Castiel ask, his voice muffled by being pressed against Dean’s shoulder. He did sound slightly amused though. Dean’s kind of manly one-arm hug held Castiel in place, even when he reached out the other hand to pat him on the back, just two quick slaps before he let his hand linger where his spine curved gently inwards.

“Like you aren’t angry anymore.”

“That’s not how I look. I’m still angry,” Castiel answered and it did sound puzzled and serious at once in his usual Cas way of taking things too literally. Dean sighed, shaking his head and leaning it to the side where it came to rest on top of Castiel’s.

“Like I,” he started but faltered, trying to find the words for a concept that seemed absolutely ludicrous to him. But this was Cas, he had a habit of doing the most destructive things. “Like you think I’m…” He couldn’t do it, he couldn’t put names to it.

“Everything?” Castiel offered and Dean tensed against him. “You are, Dean…” Castiel turned his head, which forced Dean to move his as well and meet his eyes. “I thought we’d established that somewhere along the way.” He was teasing slightly, his eyes sparkling with amusement and it was for some reason just what Dean needed to get out of his stupor of fear and disbelief.

“You’re one crazy son of a bitch, Cas,” Dean said, shaking his head. The laugh that followed his words came out completely unbidden, but once he laughed he couldn’t quite stop until Castiel didn’t even try fighting off the teeth-showing smile tugging at his lips. “I’m sorry, I don’t even know-“

“Just,” Castiel stopped him, raising his fingers to Dean’s lips with a small shake of his head. Dean was silenced, waiting for the angel to continue speaking. He saw a flicker of emotions – doubt and sadness Dean both wanted to chase away – pass over his face. Dean moved his lips against Castiel’s fingers in what could have been – a lifetime, a timeline away – a kiss. Castiel smiled again and lowered his hand. “Take it back to your time and don’t forget that you deserve to be someone else’s center of the universe.”

“I don’t think I have the luxury,” Dean confessed and Castiel sighed, not quite losing the smile yet. “Especially not when you’re not there to tell me.”

“I told you now,” Castiel stated calmly and for some odd reason… it was enough. Dean nodded at him, a small grin ghosting on his lips.

“So, uh, what now?” Dean wondered, deeming their moment to have come to its conclusion. Castiel looked at him, then his eyes swept up to the sky looking like ash. In its muted colors Dean noticed that the unnatural sheen on Castiel’s face had disappeared with the last traces of the other spheres touching upon the mortal one.

“What did Sam say?” Dean gestured for Castiel to follow him back to where he had stored their equipment.

“That I need to be where I started at noon,” he answered, leaving out the probably obvious fact that he had no idea where that had been, “how many hours does this leave me with?” Castiel seemed displeased by this confirmed time limit.

“5 hours, give or take.” Dean couldn’t help hissing at that. That was just not enough time to do anything and it would certainly take them longer than 5 hours to reach wherever Dean had landed. Castiel must have guessed his thoughts, because he straightened, apparently making up his mind about something. “So we focus on getting what you need.”

“Cas, I told you, we’d find-“ Castiel shot him a stern look, but it took him talking to drown out Dean’s protests:

“What do you need, Dean.” The familiar harsh rumble of Castiel’s voice caused Dean to sober up and he nodded. Sam back at home needed him to be at the top of his game, especially now that they were clearly running out of time. He felt a pang of guilt and regret that he probably wouldn’t have the chance to set anything right with Castiel.

“My initial destination was the other 2014, the future that Zachariah had shown me,” he started to explain and Castiel frowned at him. “What? Isn’t it possible?”

“What means did you have exactly?” Castiel asked instead, coming to a stop when Dead did, close to where he had hidden their bags. Dean dug for them while he answered:

“Sam said something about residue energy that stuck to me thanks to hitching a ride with Chronos. And the blood we had on the weapon we killed him with.” Castiel was still frowning by the time Dean handed him his far too heavy backpack. His arms trembled slightly when he shouldered it and Dean saw that his face was still pale, almost ashen under the early morning light. He wanted to offer to carry the backpack for him, but Castiel chose to speak before he could suggest it.

“I can think of a number of rituals that could make use of that as ingredients, but to send you to a future that had been potential as far back as 2009 and has since become disabled?” he asked, showing Dean a skeptical expression that started to rub off on Dean as well. “That time line exists solely in your head now, as a memory, and as a shut off niche within the flow of time that only angels who had been aware of it should be able to access.”

“Yeah, maybe that explains why I’m here,” Dean said with a half-hearted snort, “you think maybe Crowley put us up? That it wasn’t possible from the start?” Castiel wrinkled his nose for a moment, but then he shrugged.

“I don’t know. Possibly. But I didn’t mean to imply that it was not doable. You were there after all and you made it a reality through that. That it didn’t come to pass for you doesn’t make it any less real,” Castiel explained and Dean could feel the start of a headache. Castiel’s mouth tugged up at one corner. “You’ve got that I hate time-traveling face on again,” he commented and Dean had to laugh at that.

“Yeah, sorry, not an angel. I don’t get that shit,” Dean confessed and Castiel let himself fall back against a wall. It wobbled and a small amount of dust rained down on him. “You’re alright?”

“I could eat something,” Castiel said calmly, with a small crooked smile that showed too many perfectly white teeth to be calming.

“Chick-flick moments are exhausting,” Dean tried to joke and somehow it must have worked. Castiel’s grin looked genuine and had quite a hint of teasing. “Don’t say anything along the line of you actually being a chick,” Dean warned him, pointing his finger at him, “because, dude, you’ve been guy-shaped for the longest time. Some of that quality Winchester masculinity must have rubbed off on you.”

“Oh, shut up, Dean,” Castiel snorted, but then he reverted into a serious mood and Dean straightened involuntarily. “For those five hours I’ll manage. So let’s not waste time when it’s already limited,” he suggested and Dean could get behind that idea. As much as he wanted to meet this time’s Dean and actually keep his promise to Castiel, the 5 hour dead-line was alarming. He looked at his watch. He frowned at it and Castiel looked at him, tilting his head slowly.

“What is it?”

“It’s just… What if my noon isn’t his noon?” he asked slowly, watching the minutes tick by. Castiel shot him a confused look and Dean showed him his watch. It was 10:23 PM on the 17th of November. “Sam said at noon. That’s when he’s gonna pull me back. 12 AM on the 18th of November.” Castiel continued looking at him with an unreadable expression but a slight frown furrowing the skin between his brows. Dean didn’t quite know what caused him to desperately need to hear a positive reply. To get affirmation that his time here had been extended, even if just for a couple of hours, for a few moments longer, for a few chances more. Castiel finally did something else than stare, reaching up his hand to rub his chin. The stubble there had grown over the past couple of days and when Castiel moved his fingers up and down from his bottom lips to his chin Dean could hear the faint scratching noise. He had wanted to ask him to shave it off because he looked too much like that other Cas but now he was too busy looking at the color of his lips and how his fingertip slightly dragged the bottom lip down, all glistening and vulnerable pink inside. Dean kind of wished that he could blame his fascination and the not quite uncomfortable feeling in the pit of his stomach on it being monster mating season but Castiel’s salty olive oil scent with only a drop of sweetness in it held.

“Well, it could be,” Castiel finally offered and damn if Dean didn’t hear the hesitantly hopeful undercurrent in Castiel’s voice. “It’s not how a return to your origin time usually works,” he added and Dean remembered enough of the aftermaths of his trips to know it’s true. “If I understood correctly Sam upholds a constant connection to you, serving as your anchor… Thus your time continues parallel to each other…”

“So we have more than 12 hours left,” Dean said victoriously and Castiel smiled tightly.

“That might be true,” Castiel told him, his voice serious and Dean sighed, shaking his head.

“Yeah… No dallying, all right,” he said, shouldering his bag and looking towards the sky. “So what now?”

“How about we start moving? We need to head back to Illinois if you need to leave where you entered. The less I have to fly the better…” Castiel started walking at a swift pace that hid the quiver of his legs without waiting for Dean’s opinion on it. “Unless there’s something you require that we need to retrieve from somewhere else?” Dean caught up with Castiel and sent an unconvinced frown his way.

“You don’t look like you could fly all over the place even if I needed you to,” he admitted and Castiel snorted, his footsteps still quiet even though he seemed to move in a less graceful manner.

“I _could_ if you needed me to,” Castiel corrected him, “but my form might break.” Dean groaned at that, letting his head fall backwards to stare up at the ash colored sky.

“Thanks for the vote in confidence, man. It’s not as if I couldn’t keep it in my pants. Or use that pack of condoms I conveniently brought,” he reminded him, then he narrowed his eyes at Castiel, who decidedly kept his face turned away from Dean. He pushed his hand into his bag and with a bit of rummaging he felt the shape of the box. It was still there. He huffed a disbelieving laugh when he caught himself sigh in relief. “Man, how long does this take anyway?”

“Couple of days,” Castiel told him and when he finally did look at Dean he seemed embarrassed. “The worst should be over by this evening… But it wouldn’t be good if I reverted now…” Dean wanted to make an offended comment at that, but Castiel lifted his hands. “Dean, it’s not your fault. It’s just that I make less than ideal decisions when you’re in the picture.” Dean wasn’t sure whether to bristle or be flattered by that confession, so he settled for a chortled laugh. Castiel sent him a red-cheeked, disdainful glare in return.

“Sorry…! It’s just,” Dean laughed, rubbing his forehead, “this conversation should be far more awkward than it actually is.”

“It _is_ rather awkward,” Castiel spat in irritation and Dean reached out his hand to bump his fist against his shoulder.

“No, I mean… It’s just strange,” Dean said, slowly sobering as he turned his thoughts around in his head, “you and me…” His hand remained on Castiel’s shoulder, squeezing his fingers into the fabric of his still slightly stained jacket. “I mean it’s messed up and needs lot of work, but it could actually happen.” Dean was unsure what to do with the silence that followed his statement. They walked over the dusty remains of the landscape around the ruins for a moment before Dean dared to look at Castiel. Just to find him looking back with an expression that tore at Dean’s chest.

“Sorry… I’m just thinking with my mouth open,” he babbled and his grip tightened, pulling Castiel to a stop. “Cas, listen…”

“No…” The shoulder under Dean’s hand tensed. “It wouldn’t mean…” He bit his lips and Dean could see him fighting to find the right words. “I wish that it’s as easy. But it won’t be. Even if you decide not to abandon me once I am resurrected in your time, it’ll still be the end of the world. You couldn’t forgive me for going behind your back, you won’t forgive me for what I did to Sam. So what makes you think you’ll get us through this… _mess_ as you said for us to work?” Dean creased his brow in surprise and, harder to admit, a stabbing pain at these words. Castiel took a shuddering breath, his chest heaving and he reached up a hand to wipe at his face. Dean widened his eyes when he saw blood trickling from his nose. “You can say this now because it’s safe. Nothing you say or do here has an actual impact on you. This-“ he squeezed his eyes shut, trying to suppress a groan.

“Cas? Cas! What’s going on?” Dean asked, getting in front of Castiel to grab both of his shoulders before he could keel over.

“No. Not now, not this,” Castiel breathed and started coughing, a sickeningly wet sound and he gasped for breath around whatever was closing off his throat.

“What- Tell me what to do, Cas!” Dean shouted, but Castiel pried his hands off his shoulders and shoved him away before sinking to hands and knees.

“Step away,” Castiel managed to force through his lips, already splattered with dense black slime. Castiel coughed again, his fingers digging into the dry ground just as he started heaving. Dean did take his warning when the foul stench of a slaughterhouse mixed with the sharp, dense smell of brackish water hit him. This was leviathan, Dean knew at once, could smell the ocean, poisoned by these beasts in each panted breath Castiel exhaled. He had no idea what was happening, but he kept close enough to jump to Castiel’s aid if he believed there was anything he could do to help. As it was he could just watch Castiel beginning to hack up a dribble of black tinted fluid, but then he started vomiting gushes of black slime, oddly chunky and Dean slapped his hand in front of his nose and mouth.

“Oh shit, what’s-,” Dean started, his voice muffled behind his fingers, but then he winced and squeezed his eyes shut when he saw something that looked pretty much like a chewed up finger and fleshy bits. “Aw, no! Shit!” Minutes passed, filled with the sound of Castiel vomiting and the sickening splatter of the black mass. The bitter and salty scent of whatever that rotting thing used to be made Dean’s eyes water and saliva gather in his mouth as he forced down his own urge to gag. He had seen his fair share of disgusting things and lived close enough with Sam to have seen him puke his guts out multiple times. But this was a whole other layer of disturbing.

When the noise shifted to labored breathing, coughs and occasional dry heaving, Dean finally dared to step closer to him, avoiding the huge, nasty puddle. It didn’t look like vomit at all, more like some form of leviathan blood.

“Is it over…?” Dean asked, reaching out to grab Castiel under the armpits to haul him up on his feet and away from the black goo. Castiel held a trembling hand to his mouth, but he nodded. “What… was that?” Dean wondered and he let go of Castiel long enough to grab a flask of holy water.

“Dick,” Castiel started, his voice rough and he swallowed a couple of times. Dean handed him the flask and Castiel rinsed out his mouth, but it didn’t really help the rawness of his bruised throat. “Dick ate another Leviathan,” he said and Dean recoiled.

“Gross bastard! But why does that affect you?” Castiel licked his lips, his face devoid of all color, but black blood smeared around his mouth and nose. He looked clammy, his face glistening and eyes red-rimmed and moist.

“Leviathan are a race of vicious beasts, the weak get eaten by the stronger… That’s how Dick became their King… And it affects me because I’m part of the Leviathan body…” Dean tried to make sense of that while Castiel took another gulp of water. “When I’m weak I can’t quite control myself… I must have sent a signal to him that I require nourishment… So he provided it.” Dean cringed at that, the entire concept made him want to put a couple of bullets through someone, preferably Dick.

“But you vomited it back out!” he argued and Castiel turned his eyes towards him, dark and vibrant in his otherwise pale face.

“Not all of it… I couldn’t help absorbing some of it before I could force my body to reject the rest,” he admitted and Dean didn’t even want to know what it had cost Castiel to do that. Castiel rolled his shoulders with an almost noiseless wince, before straightening and stepping away from Dean’s arm. He looked down at the remains of the Leviathan, but then Castiel reached into his pocket and before Dean could say anything he had thrown a lit match to the pile. The fumes that started to rise up from the puddle, thick and a dark green, smelled terrible. “Let’s go…”

“Just… wait a second Cas,” Dean said, following, “should you really be walking around? We do have a couple of hours left. You should rest.” Castiel groaned, wiping the last pits of Leviathan off his face. “Cas… I know I’ve pushed you to or actually beyond your limits before… But we’ve got the time. You don’t need to do this now.”

“Dean, I do,” Castiel said, his voice tired but patient, surprising Dean. “Rejecting the nourishment took more power than the little I got from absorbing it.” Even though Dean had already guessed that, hearing it from Castiel made him shake his head in frustration. A part of Dean wished Castiel had just taken the power boost, even if it made him less… not human, but certainly not more leviathan. But the fear of Castiel with a lopsided grin on his face and veins pulsing black and poisonous under his skin are exactly the reasons why Dean should be glad that he had rejected it almost immediately, no matter how weak it left him. Castiel studied Dean’s face calmly as he tried to make up his mind. “There’s no point in waiting. There never has been. We’re just delaying the inevitable,” he said with a drawn out, tired voice and Dean wondered what exactly the inevitable was. Leaving? Thinking back to the last couple of days, Dean realized that Castiel had always been reluctant to leave his side, always reluctant to move, always reluctant to give in when Dean pressed onwards.

“I don’t want to leave you, Cas,” Dean said and Castiel looked up at him with surprise, something wounded and guarded in his eyes and Dean felt the edge of dread within himself sharpen before it softened. He didn’t say _but it is inevitable._ He didn’t say _I don’t belong here_. Both of them knew it and it would only fill Dean with more guilt to have to speak it and see the pain of rejection in Castiel’s eyes. Because that’s what it felt like to Dean, even though he knew that he was not given a choice here. Staying any longer in a time that wasn’t his, with a Castiel that wasn’t his and a world that wasn’t his to save was no option. Sam needed him. He needed to fix this, before the world was too broken for him to even try. As the silence continued between them, Dean took a step forward, putting his hand on Castiel’s back.

“You could sleep, Cas. At least for an hour or two.” He knew he was fighting a losing battle, even without having to look into Castiel’s face. The angel started walking again. Dean did too when he assumed that this was all the answer he would get.

“Sleep doesn’t help much,” Castiel said, deciding on a path to take, even as his eyes darted over the ruins. “I want to do this,” he said, “let me help you while I still can.”

“You’re a stubborn son of bitch,” Dean sighed, “just like Sam.” Castiel shrugged, but didn’t say anything to get the conversation going again.

* * *

 

They walked in silence for what felt like an hour, leaving behind the ruins, then the heaps where rubble was all that was left and got to yellow, dry and ankle-deep grass that snapped under their boots. Dean’s attention was divided between almost obsessively checking his watch, afraid that somehow it would suddenly spring forwards, and Castiel. Castiel wasn’t doing good, but he did his best to conceal it. Dean thought it was pointless for him to even try, but he assumed that angels did have their pride too.

When Castiel started coughing and spitting out black slime that instantly made the already beaten grass wither even more, he grabbed a fistful of Castiel’s jacket and hauled him to a stop.

“Just breathe, Cas. We can take five goddamn minutes for you to get through this,” Dean urged him and Castiel shot him a dark glare out of red-rimmed eyes, but then he took a shuddering breath and hunched over slightly, hands firmly on his thighs as he coughed up more of the foul smelling stuff. Just watching it seep into the cracks in the dried earth made Dean cringe. This corruption was inside of Cas, filling his stomach, his lungs and his heart. “Try to get it out, man.” Castiel actually managed a pathetic gurgle that probably counted as a chuckle in other circumstances.

“What do you think I’m doing?” he asked and grabbed for the flask Dean was handing him, rinsing out his mouth.

“Well, stay away from Dick and you can spare yourself the morning sickness, sweetheart,” Dean teased and Castiel rolled his eyes up at him, lips still around the mouth of the bottle.

“Smartass,” Castiel finally snorted, smacking his lips and screwing the lid back on. “You still haven’t told me what it is you need to acquire,” he said and Dean lifted his eyebrows at the complete lack of subtlety in this topic change. They started walking again, Castiel’s steps still sure, but his shoulders were too straight and his hands twitched at his sides. “So I guessed it’s what we assumed it to be.”

“Your blood, yes… And the Colt. It’s the thing I’ve received the gold thread for… I don’t think you know where it is,” he said and Castiel looked to his side, his eyebrows lowered in confusion. Dean couldn’t fault him his apprehension as he didn’t see much sense in acquiring the Colt either. Not that Dean wasn’t in favor of grasping at straws when they presented themselves. “Apparently we wanted to make special bullets to take down leviathans… I guess it was Crowley that came up with the idea that they’re vulnerable to the blood of their first host…” When Castiel remained silent, Dean thought about the exact words Crowley had used. Portal? Gate? Something like that.

“I doubt it can kill them,” Castiel finally said after a stretch of contemplative silence between them. “But it could banish them.” When Dean turned to look at Castiel he elaborated: “Send them back to Purgatory I mean. For them I was like a…”

“A portal?” Dean supplied when Castiel was unsure how to continue.

“Yes… Something like that. I allowed them to pass into the world through me… It is possible that my blood could serve as something similar, like a small gateway back to Purgatory. Just like an exorcism. But I doubt the Colt helps much and I fear that my blood has far less power than my body would have…”

“Yeah… But we don’t have your body, Cas,” Dean said firmly, even as Castiel averted his eyes. Because yeah, Castiel was here, his body was here. “And we’re not opening yourself up again to Purgatory. Because that was a disaster the first time.” Castiel didn’t say anything to that and Dean wasn’t sure whether he should let it go or shout. “So blood it is.”

“You’ll need a bigger container than Bobby’s flask,” Castiel said dryly, “there are hundreds of Leviathan, Dean, and _you_ can’t draw them together.” There was more to that statement, Dean knew, but Castiel just kept his mouth firmly shut.

“I don’t plan to. I just care about ganking Dick. One step at a time.” Castiel nodded slowly, but didn’t give any encouragements.


	7. Chapter 7

**Part 6**

Just after noon, in a small warded place in a forest far too close to the toxic vapor of the Outside, Castiel allowed a break. Dean had complained and exaggerated his own fatigue before Castiel had finally caved. It wasn’t a cabin anymore, more like a wooden roof supported by four beams and a number of rotting boards for walls. There was a line of flat rocks arranged in a circle around it, all smeared with dark, coppery sigils. The forest was also not the coziest of places; most of the trees just bare trunks as if a fire had wiped past, leaving everything brittle and black. Dean had first assumed that they were taking the same route back as they’d come, but Castiel apparently had other plans, taking the fastest path, the one with least Dead Lands and less polluted places.

Castiel was spreading rugs and blankets on the floor, instantly giving the place a strange air Dean wasn’t entirely comfortable with. He lay down, face buried in his arms and Dean could see the irregular, almost stuttering rise and fall of his back. Dean decided to leave him be for a second so he could catch his breath and turned towards the bags, looking for something else to eat. A stale slice of bread and an apple where all he came up with and wished for the food Castiel had served before.

“Hey, Sleeping Beauty,” Dean said after he had eaten, nudging his socked feet against Castiel’s thigh. When Castiel lifted his head to glare over his shoulder, Dean sat up on his knees and inched closer tohim. “You don’t look too good,” he said and put his hand on Castiel’s pale forehead. His skin was damp but cold and when he reached down to check his pulse he found black veins standing out on his otherwise white skin. “Uh… Cas…”

“I know…,” Castiel grunted, sitting up and rubbing his face. “My form shows cracks.”

“What… exactly happens when it breaks? Will you be better if you don’t have to focus your power on this body?” Dean wanted to know, keeping his hand on Castiel’s shoulders, fingers brushing the skin just above his jacket’s collar.

“Not immediately… I’ll still be weak until I’ve eaten or rested properly…” Dean sighed, but Castiel shook his head. “Dean…”

“Yeah, I get it… You’re still in your…” Dean searched for a word, but in the end he just shrugged. “But just because I behaved like a drunk idiot once, nothing has to happen… Nothing _will_ happen…” Castiel reached up to rub his neck, but it wasn’t the same shy gesture he had seen years ago. “Cas… What do you think will happen?”

“I don’t know, Dean… That you reacted at all has taken me by surprise,” he said, resting his hand on his neck, even as he tilted his head backwards, eyes closing. Dean bit his lips, but then he got a bit closer and sniffed the air just next to Castiel’s neck. Castiel promptly opened one eye, looking at Dean with confusion. “What are you doing?”

“You know,” Dean started and drew back enough to look down at Castiel, “I have no clue what your body wants from me, but right now I don’t really smell that much.” Castiel lifted his eyebrow. “The olive oil scent is quite faint and I can smell that… leviathan stuff on you. It’s some kind of… I don’t know… heavy scent,” Dean tried to explain. “It almost drowns out the sweetness…”

“So you think it’s safe,” Castiel tried to finish his thought, but Dean shook his head.

“No, I have no clue how anything about you works, Cas… But I don’t think I’ll be overwhelmed,” he explained and hazarded a grin that Castiel rewarded with a confused tilt. “And it is kinda scratching my ego that you think I’ll do something bad. You’re not a siren, right?”

“A siren?” Castiel wondered in disbelief, but then he had to laugh, shaking his head. “No, that’s not how I work. At least, not how I used to work. Being a new species is rather confusing.”

“So,” Dean concluded, “maybe you should let go before you break.” Castiel looked at him dubiously, but to Dean’s relief he nodded. Dean smiled, hoping for an encouraging expression and waited for the shift and the sweet scents to assault him. But nothing happened. Castiel didn’t change, he just kept looking at Dean with a slight head-tilt. “Uh… You’re still a guy?”

“You want me to change now?” Castiel asked and Dean shrugged, but lifted his hands invitingly.

“As good a place as any,” Dean answered and Castiel sighed, “okay, I’ll move to the other side of the room. Give you some space.” But Castiel’s hand shot out and he grabbed Dean’s wrist. His fingers were still soft and warm, but slightly damp.

“Stay,” Castiel requested, his voice nothing more than a whisper, but it was firm, just like his hold.

“O-okay.” Castiel let his hand go and sat back. And for a second the sweetness was everywhere, streaming down his nostrils and lying heavy on his tongue, closing off his throat and sending his nerves on edge with a rush of adrenalin. He watched Castiel scratch her neck, still pale but void of those black markings, then she reached up to rub her smooth chin. Dean saw the way she pulled her bottom lip in, chewing slightly before releasing it again. He saw her long fingers carding through strands of dark chair. He saw her tug up her shirt at the collar, adjusting her clothes, showing just the tiniest bit of stomach and the valley between breasts.

He saw all of it and still retained the mental functions and control over his body to think about whether his desire to touch and taste was influenced by the shape Castiel’s body assumed. Maybe it should alarm him that the answer was a solid, unconditional _no_. He wondered what that told him about his perception of Castiel.

“You’re quiet, Dean,” Castiel observed, her tone cautious. Dean shrugged and some of the tension left Castiel. “Good. Intriguing, but good.” Dean had to laugh at that and Castiel dipped her head which hardly concealed the fact that she was grinning too. Castiel shot Dean another look, but then she turned around, grabbing for her backpack. Dean flinched when he saw what Castiel was pulling out.

“Oh, no man, you’ve got to be kidding me!” Dean said with a laugh, then he winced when she shrugged out of her jacket. There was no sudden surge in desire as Castiel discarded her cardigan. No waves of heavenly smells that tempted Dean to get out of his clothes too and crawl on top her. He was actually surprised that the haze he had felt before didn’t return and wondered why it had even happened in the first place. He wasn’t meant to react to the hormones Castiel’s body produced, especially not when she tightly controlled what Dean got to perceive. Maybe his body had adjusted to it after the initial shock, just like humans had slowly adjusted to the scents and poisons of the Outside.

Or maybe it was just Castiel that knew how to adapt.

In any case, Dean did draw a breath when Castiel grabbed the hem of her shirt and pulled it over her head. He watched the muscles move under the skin, still pale but healthier looking than before. Dean had always been an admirer of women and just because he found Jimmy kind of hot now didn’t mean he wasn’t taken in by the nice size and shape of Cas’ breasts. Or what small glimpse he got of them before they were cupped up in the blue bra.

“Let me,” Dean started and had his hands on Castiel’s back before he could even finish his offer for help. Castiel let go and Dean fastened the hooks, then pulled the straps up Castiel’s upper arms, adjusting them on her shoulders. Castiel fumbled with the cups, but seemed to deem them fitting enough. She looked up at Dean expectantly and Dean couldn’t help whistling.

“Okay. Yeah you win,” he confessed and Castiel grinned at him, “you do look good in a bra.” She seemed to be pleased by that because she pulled her clothes back on, lying down on the blanket. “How are you?”

“Hm.” Castiel closed her eyes. “Relieved,” she said after a while, opening her eyes again to look at Dean. “But I won’t stay like this for long.” Dean frowned, but then he lay down next to Castiel, pressing close to her even though she tensed for a second, before she rolled to her side.

“Why?” Dean asked and turned his head to look at her. “I promised.” Castiel smiled at him, touching the back of her fingers to Dean’s hand.

“Yes. I’m sorry for assuming,” she told him. “But I still feel that our interaction is affected. And I don’t want to make you uneasy.” Dean couldn’t argue with that. There remained something about Castiel in this unfamiliar form that was unsettling. But it was his new form, not a vessel, but something of his own. That it was female was not really the main problem anymore. It was that it was leviathan, an incomprehensible, black core hidden beneath blood and a deceptively human shell.

“Dude, you’ve done a whole lot of inappropriate things. Don’t worry about me being uneasy,” Dean assured her instead. Castiel propped her head up on her palm, studying Dean with a slightly apologetic smile.

“I don’t know what to worry about. You humans are concerned about all manner of things,” she said, “and you continue to take me by surprise.” Dean raised an eyebrow.

“Generally you or…?”

“ _You_ , Dean,” Castiel answered with a chuckle, but then her face grew pensive.

“Not always a good thing, huh?” Castiel just shook her head; no one needed the reminders of where Dean had done things Castiel had not expected. “Okay.” They both relapsed into silence and Castiel pillowed her head in the crook of her elbow, closing her eyes, while Dean turned his face upwards. Faint light was coming through the cracks in the wood and the sound of Castiel’s breaths in the silence of the forest almost made his eyes drop closed as well. But with the silence his thoughts were free to roam again, quickly focusing on the worry for Sam. He was almost out of time and while he was sure that Castiel would give him the blood before he left, he should collect more information, something useful to take back into his time. He trusted Castiel to be able to send him back after his and Sam’s dead-line and he’d probably try to stay a bit longer. If only this didn’t take its toll on Sam. He couldn’t recall their conversations about the ritual; he had no idea what this was doing to his brother other than keeping him awake for more than three days. Inviting vivid hallucinations was not what Dean wanted to do but if he just packed his things and left here it wouldn’t feel right. He was sure Cas was able to fend for himself, he had found some sort of purpose and place in all of this, but he really didn’t want to leave him behind like that. Without any chance to hear that his attempts at redemption were appreciated. Dean could shout it from the mountains and it still wouldn’t be enough.

“What?” Dean blinked in surprise, turning his head to look at Castiel. She still had her eyes closed, but a small frown had formed between her eyebrows.

“I didn’t say anything,” Dean assured her and her frown became more prominent before she opened both eyes to look at him. She didn’t ask anything, just continued assessing him and Dean lifted his eyebrows in silent inquiry. Suddenly, Castiel widened her eyes and sat up. Dean did too, albeit with caution, keeping his eyes on her. Her eyes were wide and her mouth slightly open as she listened to something that he couldn’t hear.

“Cas…?” Castiel’s hands shot to her head, blocking Dean out of her sight and staring wide-eyed at nothing. Listening, listening. Dean’s confusion turned to worry. Was that another summoning? Now of all times? Or had the leviathan finally found a way to slip into the empty spaces Heaven had left behind? Dean moved in front of Castiel, trying to get her to look at him, but she just stared right through him.

“Dean…” Dean breathed in relief, grabbing her upper arms until her eyes finally cleared and settled on him. The shocked expression crumbled and Dean wanted to pull her towards him, but he was surprised into an inability to move. He had seen Castiel emotional before, here more than before, but never like this. Not anger, not agitation, not even silent resignation. He had absolutely no idea what could make an angel break down and cry.

“Cas, what’s going on?” he dared to ask, finally moving just enough to be closer to Castiel, a promise of comfort should she want it. Surprisingly, Castiel did reach out, her hands blindly groping for something and Dean took hold of them, squeezing her fingers before settling their joined hands in her lap. “Cas.” Castiel lifted her face towards him, her eyes wide and she sounded breathless when she spoke.

“A prayer,” she said and he could see wonder, pain and hope flicker through her eyes. “Your prayer.”

* * *

 

In the five frantic minutes that followed Castiel’s announcement, there was absolutely no point in trying to talk to her. She had dashed out of his grasp and started packing again. Dean watched her, his insides feeling tense and wrong. It was him again, always him, that had caused this explosion of emotion within her. It was him that had driven her far enough to spill tears at the smallest sign. A prayer following what probably had been an attempt to end her life months before.

Dean was equally disgusted and jealous of himself. Because even though it was terrible that he could ever hold that kind of power to move an incredibly powerful creature with nothing but a throwaway call, he was still angry that it was for that other him Castiel was spurred into such frantic motions.

“Cas, what did he say?” He was leaning against one of the precariously wobbling pillars, arms crossed and face grim while he watched Castiel pull on the backpack. Castiel stopped moving and looked up at him like a startled animal, as if she had forgotten that he was here. She relaxed somewhat, the firm lines of her mouth and frown easing up slightly.

“He…” She stopped herself and studied Dean. “I will not meet him. I need to make sure that you are safely returned to your own timeline.” And that at least was a small comfort – she still cared enough not to leave him here. Dean shook his head.

“No, I’m sure he could tell me some interesting things and I did promise you to beat some sense into him,” he told her and Castiel’s mouth twitched into a fracture of a smile.

“Thank you,” she said and sounded so relieved that Dean couldn’t be angry anymore, at least not as angry as before. She stepped closer to him and looked through the spaces left barren between the charred trees. “He didn’t say much. Just a location where he expects me to meet him and Sam.” Dean lifted an eyebrow.

“Are you sure it’s not a trap?” Dean asked and decided he could as well punch himself in the face when Castiel averted her still wet eyes.

“No… But even if it is a trap, I am willing to go,” she said and looked back up at him. “You do know him. What reason could you have to trap me? There is no need to at this point.” Dean sighed and shrugged. It was true after all; but he didn’t quite trust his future self not to do stupid things. Like using Cas as bait.

“Well,” Dean started, stepping out from under the remains of the cabin, Castiel following, “we still have some hours left. Europe it is then.”

“They’re not in Europe.” Castiel walked past him and set a path through the forest leading away from the foot prints still visible in the almost black earth.

“What?” he asked in surprise, “I thought they got onto the ship a couple of months ago?” Castiel nodded.

“The location Dean gave me is in the state of Pennsylvania,” she said with a small frown.

“What’s in Pennsylvania?” Castiel’s frown only deepened.

“A Settlement,” she said and looked up at Dean, confusion visible on her face as she tried to put the pieces together. “But one that we had to give up… I arranged the relocation for the inhabitants about a month ago… It’s still Dry Lands, but it’s empty.” She gave a shake of the head. Dean on the other hand just shrugged, not in the least concerned.

“But that’s exactly the kind of place Sam and I would prefer,” he told her, “ever since the leviathans have been on our trail, we’ve favored abandoned places to stay clear off their radar.” Castiel didn’t seem contended with this piece of information.

“That may be so, but while the Leviathan are aware of the existence of Settlements and Outposts, they do not know their exact location or the identity of their inhabitants,” she explained. “You wouldn’t have to fear detection…”

“Well, there’s no point in worrying about it,” Dean decided and placed his hand on Castiel’s shoulder, patting it once before letting go again. “So are we walking?” Castiel lifted her eyebrow at him and he sighed in defeat. “Flying then. Great.”

* * *

 

When Castiel’s wings rustled out of Dean’s view he could make out a chain link fence just a few meters from where they were standing. The air here was chilly and humid, the faint wind blowing a drizzle of rain into their faces. The ground was partially covered by stone plates with plants pushing up from between the cracks. The gate just ahead of them was closed but the lock had been picked, probably an easy feat considering how withered the thing looked. Dean dared to look behind him where Castiel had turned into a pale-faced statue. The landscape was nothing spectacular, the pavement soon torn up and the road lost in short grass, ranges of lichen covered rocks and low hills in the distance. The sky was dark and menacing despite the time of day.

Dean checked his watch; 5:48 AM. Another sleepless night for Sam.

Looking back at the fence he saw simple brick stone constructions with tin roofs arranged in straight lines. The settlement couldn’t have been that big judging from the number of buildings and despite the peeling paint on the doors and the weed growing in the cracks of the paved ground didn’t look as bad as Dean would have expected.

“Come on, Cas. Let’s go in,” Dean called and walked towards the entry. The gate made a loud screeching noise as it swung open, wobbling in its weak and half-broken hinges. He stepped inside and searched for a sign for his future self and Sam. He noticed mud from the outside on the stones. Tracks. Dean turned back to where Castiel still stood, hesitating to even enter. Now that he looked for it, he could make out more tracks in the wet ground. A car must have come here quite recently, passing straight through the relatively narrow road that curved to the left around the brick houses. The excitement he felt at the prospect of actually meeting his future self was unexpected. After all, the last time had not been easy or particularly rewarding. And if he could trust what he had picked up from Castiel’s meager accounts he was bound to end up as a phenomenal dick in 2014. He just hoped that Sam did better even though anything would be an improvement to what he’d seen the last time.

He was quite a few steps into the abandoned settlement when he realized that Castiel was not at his side. He turned around, finding her lingering by the gate, indecisive even though her face didn’t really betray all the anxiety he suspected churning within her. He huffed and lifted his arm towards her until he had her eyes on him, then he turned it towards where he suspected Sam and this time’s him to be.

“Cas, he’s here, somewhere in this settlement. If you want to meet him then now’s the time,” he told her and even though Castiel didn’t say anything, she walked up to him, her expression composed but her eyes wide. She took a deep breath through her nose, then she set her shoulders and took the lead, Dean following cautiously, keeping his eyes open for any danger than might lurk in the shadows and small spaces between the buildings.

Despite the continuous drizzle, the air didn’t feel clean. There was something heavy and musty tickling Dean’s senses, the faintest smell of something old or decaying. He couldn’t see any source of it, but what did Dean know of corruption? There must have been a reason to abandon this settlement despite the apparent need of as many of them as possible.

Castiel’s pace slowed and then she came to a stop. Dean wanted to ask if she’s been able to pinpoint the origin of the prayer, but the question was superfluous; not too far from them, dull with dust and wheels caked in mud, was the Impala.

“Oh, baby!” Dean called, mentally thanking whoever was listening up there for small mercies. She looked a bit weatherworn and dull, but she was not lost. Dean wanted to approach, but Castiel stopped him.

“Wait, maybe it’s best if I go first. I don’t know how Sam and Dean will react to your presence.” Dean rolled his eyes at the warning but Castiel looked at him sharply. “I am not giving you a choice here. You saw how Frank greeted me and I cannot heal or revive you if anything goes wrong.” Dean wondered about his chances in arguing this, but he gave in and nodded.

“Fine, but I’ll be a step behind you,” he told her and it was a sign of her nervousness that she allowed him anywhere near.

Dean saw the house the two had decided to occupy before he saw any of the men themselves. The walls were covered by smears of what must have been blood. A circle of patterns was dug into the ground surrounding their cabin, a free standing building of small size next to an empty grass field.

Castiel stopped and looked at it, which was proof enough that she was weary of entering and being trapped or not being able to enter at all.

“Impressive, aren’t they?” The voice made both Castiel and Dean, who was almost prompted out of hiding, look up. “This would probably keep every bastard that had ever crawled over the face of the earth out. Not you though, of course. Because _you_! You’re something else entirely.” Castiel looked to the side, still a few steps shy of many circles and lines making up the huge warding symbol, strangely like a devil’s trap.

Dean Winchester two years into the future was all faked casual charm, leaning against the wall with the still glistening blood sigils creating a distorted, thorny halo around his head. With a pleased smirk on his lips but a cold, assessing glint to his eyes, he watched Castiel. When she didn’t say anything Dean uncrossed his arms and stood up straight, the smirk slipping.

“You’re late.” Dean could see that this was the jolt that spurred Castiel into motion again and she did take a bold step, breeching the lines of the circle. Dean wasn’t sure, but he could have sworn that a blast of dry, warm wind hit him with the sound of rustling feathers.

“Dean,” Castiel said, her voice carrying over to his hiding place, and Dean watched his future self’s frown deepen.

“It’s not as if you’ve got your wings clipped,” future Dean continued, “even in Europe I could hear the whispers of the Black Dove doing its humanitarian road-trip through America.”

“I came as fast as I could. I currently have another charge that needs my attention,” Castiel replied, voice calm and unfaltering, but it failed at sounding easy and unconcerned. Under the other Dean’s cold stare she advanced until they were only a short distance apart. Dean swore he could feel the tension between them even from his hiding space. Finally, Castiel lowered her eyes. “I was worried about you. I am glad you prayed.” Dean was actually quite surprised to hear such open honesty, but he was even more surprised when his future self didn’t even bat an eyelash.

“You’re not doing anything against the leviathans,” he said instead. “Why exactly are you still here?” Dean thought that the distance between his hiding space and the other two had swallowed the conversation, but Castiel was just moving her mouth voicelessly. Dean could fill it with so many good and true answers. With reasons and promises and hopes, but the other Dean couldn’t and didn’t want to. So he sneered at the silence. “You’re still as spineless as you’ve always been. You don’t even care that this is the end, you don’t care that you’ve forced everything into this direction.” What surprised Dean weren’t the actual words because he was sure that he’d said them before in some variation, at some point in time. It wasn’t even the anger that pierced every word and made Castiel shrink into herself despite her attempt at keeping calm. It was the look in his eyes, the one Castiel didn’t see because she was staring at Dean’s feet, but one that Dean knew well enough. Dean of the future played being angry, keeping the rage close, because it was easier than working his way through what really was there – he just didn’t care anymore. Dean was done. And it made him dangerous and unpredictable.

So when the other Dean actually moved towards Castiel, hands reaching out to grab her by the collar of her jacket and yanking her further into the trap, breaching lines and symbols, and smashing her against the wall covered in blood, Dean moved before he had thought about potential consequences.

“Hey!” He shouted, pulling out his gun and pointing it towards what he still never wanted to be. Not again. “Get away from him!” Castiel had her eyes widened, before she narrowed them in obvious displeasure. The other Dean slowly turned his head when Dean himself advanced cautiously, both hands firmly around his gun. To his credit, the other Dean didn’t seem surprised for long and snorted, but the hold on Castiel loosened a bit. “Hands off, buddy,” Dean said, waving his gun slightly to the side and his counterpart took the cue, stepping away just slightly, with is hands raised mockingly. “I really don’t want to shoot myself again, okay?”

 “Cute,” the other Dean said, lips pulling up into a hollow smirk, before he completely ignored Dean in favor of snapping at Castiel: “Befitting the leviathan whore.” Castiel’s eyes widened in shock and if Dean didn’t know better she actually looked ill. Dean wanted to tell him to shut up, but then he actually understood what the other man was implying. He made a face that wasn’t unlike Castiel’s own and stalked up to Castiel, pulling her away from the wall and behind himself.

“I’m not a leviathan!” he argued and the small frown appearing on the other Dean’s brow was at least a bit of a comfort. “There’s nothing supernatural about me. I could tell you the same damn thing we both told that dick in Zach’s fucked up Croatoan future if that’d make you happy!”

“Time travelling,” the other Dean said, his frown deepening, but he did relax some, his shoulders losing a fraction of their rigid tenseness. He looked over at Castiel who had stepped out from behind Dean to be able to intervene should anything happen. She nodded at his silent demand for confirmation and future Dean shook his head in puzzlement. “What lesson are you learning this time, huh? Apart from that the world is ending in 2014 yet again?” he demanded to know of his younger self, his voice carrying a note of disdain.

“It’s an errand, not a lesson,” Dean snorted, shaking his head, “I need Cas’ blood and forwards seemed better than backwards.” Expectedly, being a dick a few years into the future hadn’t made Dean a complete idiot if the look of irritated incomprehension was anything to go by. He didn’t get to ask any questions though, because they heard the steps of someone approaching.

“Oh.” And there was Sam two years into the future, a surprised frown melting into an easy smile. And he was whole and healthy and dressed in slightly dirty jeans and the only white thing about him was the shirt he wore underneath his jacket. “I gave you five minutes alone and this turns into the beginning of something kinky.”

“Shut up,” the other Dean groaned, tense and annoyed when Sam just smiled widely. Next to Dean, Castiel breathed in deeply, bracing herself for something that didn’t quite come when Sam looked at her, tilting his head slightly in assessment.

“Castiel.”

“Sam.”

“It’s good to see you again. When Dean called you I was unsure whether you would follow the call. We did part on slightly bloody terms.” Maybe it was Sam’s total calm and patient talking as if Castiel was an easily spooked animal or child. Maybe it was the glaring contrast between his behavior and his brother’s uncomfortable tension, but something about this situation was seriously giving Dean goose bumps.

“I will always come to Dean’s call,” Castiel replied, but future Dean broke the heavy atmosphere by shoving Castiel, hand fisted in the back of her jacket.

“Hey, woah! What did I say about keeping your hands off him!” Dean warned but his future self just shot him an irritated glare.

“Relax. Being a bit rough won’t break her,” he said and Dean found so many things wrong with that, but Sam put his hand on Dean’s shoulder and squeezed. The encouraging, unworried smile prompted Dean into following. At least Sam wasn’t being a dick, strange jokes aside.

Castiel was released when they were next to a fire place, the wood ready to be lit, and blankets spread. Dean and Sam had never been fussy about sitting on the floor, so it was slightly odd to see this small amount of unnecessary comfort and color. They were in a different circle now, all lines leading to the fire place and a wavy line of symbols connecting it with other circles Dean could spot. They were well prepared, but Dean wasn’t sure for what. So he watched himself make Castiel start the fire, keeping his eyes on her like a hawk before Sam guided him away, and looked around their camp. Apart from the blankets on the ground there were open and closed rucksacks as well as firmly sealed wooden boxes and bottles he couldn’t see inside to make out their contents. When Castiel was done with her task she got back on her feet and joined Dean in keeping a watchful eye on what happened on the other side of the fire. Dean and Sam were talking, their voices too low to be heard over the spitting and cracking of the branches catching fire, but there was something odd about their interaction. Dean just didn’t know what. Sam always kept his hands on Dean in some way, touching, reaching for him and Dean kept on flinching back before allowing it. Dean wondered what had happened in the two years, what Sam might have done or what _he_ might have done to plant that little seed of wariness. It would not be the first time, Dean was sad to acknowledge, that things had been tense and unnatural between him and his brother. It was still painful to watch and wonder, so he turned to Castiel, who yet had to say anything.

“How are you?” he asked, not bothering to keep his voice low. Should the other Dean know that he was actually concerned about Castiel. Let him know that he was so wrong about digging his claws into anger and holding on. Castiel didn’t reply at first, but she gave a shrug so she had at least acknowledged his question. “You’ll be fine, Cas… Just…” Dean looked for something helpful to say, but in the end he just brushed his fingers against hers. They jerked away, before wrapping themselves loosely around Dean’s pinky. “Grit your teeth and ride his anger out. He’ll lose steam eventually,” he said. Castiel turned her head and looked up at him with a sad expression.

“I don’t want him to lose steam. I don’t want him to burn out hollow.” So Castiel had noticed something about him too, some sort of resignation lurking beneath the cold and harsh exterior. Before either of them could say anything else, the other Dean walked up to them, face set. That is until he saw Castiel’s hold on Dean, then his eyes widened before they darkened and Castiel let go.

“I’m sorry to break up your _moment_ ,” he said the word as if it was particularly distasteful and Dean could kind of understand the attitude behind it, “but we have things to discuss.” He looked first at Castiel, then at Dean, “seeing as I probably can’t get rid of you, you’d better come and listen too.”

* * *

 

Dean took a seat next to Castiel under the watchful eyes of his future self. He was close nough to the camp fire to still feel its warmth, but the overall atmosphere was chilly.

“So how was Europe?” Dean wondered, trying to break apart the heavy silence. The other Dean snorted, while Sam merely smiled.

“You would be surprised at how much there is outside of America. Artifacts, knowledge, lore,” he replied, leaning his elbows on his knees. “Hunters. An entire network actually keeping their eyes open. Why do you think all of this shit goes down in America?” Dean shrugged and his future self just shook his head at him with a humorless smirk. “It’s because it’s chaotic and unguarded here. The network never worked.”

“And you’re trying to tell me that good old Europe has a hidden army or something?” It was Sam who smiled at him now, amused.

“Not quite hidden. They work closely together with the Church. Unsurprisingly, a secularized society doesn’t take kindly to them taking charge again. But you’d be surprised what humans put up with when they’re expecting the world to end,” he said, pulling one corner of his mouth up a bit further, then he shrugged. “It doesn’t concern us. All Dean was interested in was finding a way to kill something that cannot be slayed or perish trying.” Dean lifted an eyebrow at this peculiar wording.

“What I- you mean what you both wanted, right? Or do you have other priorities, Sammy?” Sam smiled, closing his eyes but lifting his eyebrows.

“Yes, of course,” he said indulgingly and Dean really didn’t like that slightly patronizing tone he used. As if Sam was just humoring Dean. The other Dean wasn’t any more pleased that Dean himself was.

“You returned because you found something,” Castiel spoke up, completely ignoring the awkward silence that had ensued, “what is it?” The other Dean reached into an inside pocket of his jacket, pulling out two small books. They looked new but already well-worn, the dark leather binding of both already cracked and dog ears bending the pages.

“Surprise,” the other Dean said sarcastically when he noticed Dean’s skeptical look. “They don’t just give you the centuries old originals.” He held both books up. “We got translated copies.” He tossed the bigger one towards Dean, who caught it and turned it around. There was nothing on the black cover, so he opened it to the first page and wrinkled his brow in confusion.

“The Leviathan Gospel?” Castiel, who was sitting next to Dean tensed at that before she pulled the book out of Dean’s fingers, flipping through it with wide eyes. Dean lifted his eyebrow at “What’s that supposed to be?”

“It’s basically the story every leviathan knows and believes in. It’s their creation myth, their rule book and the foundation of their race,” future Dean explained and when Dean looked over at him, he found his eyes focused on Castiel going through the pages. “Everything written in there, the leviathans accept as truth.”

“What does it say then? Is there anything on how they’re to be killed or what?” Dean wondered, but got a head-shake in return.

“No, it’s more like a handbook of how they can expect to get out of Purgatory and what to do from then on. It’s too late for us to do anything against it. Probably too late for you too unless you come from a point before Purgatory was opened,” Dean’s future self said. He wasn’t surprised or disappointed when Dean shook his head. “But this here.” The other book was held up for Dean to see, small and also bound in black leather. He could make out simple gold lettering on it though.

“The Beast’s Lament,” Dean read, but then he shook his head in confusion, “something else out of Purgatory?”

“Yes,” the other Dean got up and walked over to where he and Castiel were sitting, lowering himself to a crouch and waving the book in front of Castiel’s face. “In leviathan society, those who are strongest fight their way up to the very top. That leaves a lot of weaker individuals to certain death. One depressed leviathan wrote down what it calls an echo of something the leviathans had long forgotten, some kind of prophecy. Fortunately, both accounts had been recorded by either a monster that got out of Purgatory or a human that was attuned to the realm. While the Gospel is all about them getting out of Purgatory and eating up the earth in some epic delayed temper tantrum directed at their Dad for sticking them into Purgatory, the Lament tells us how to get rid of them again.”

“You mean kill them?” Dean couldn’t keep the excitement out of his voice. The other Dean’s hard eyes put a bit of a damper on his mood though.

“I mean toss them back into Purgatory and make sure they stay there for the next couple of millennia.” And well, it wasn’t exactly ideal and not nearly as satisfying as slicing Dick into tiny pieces and setting him on fire, but it was a start. The first attempt to send them back to Purgatory had failed, but maybe this would work if it was specifically designed for leviathan.

“That’s… great,” Dean said before he looked over at his counterpart. The man regarded him with a blank expression, then turned his eyes to Castiel. The angel was silent and unmoving, looking at the open gospel without reading anymore. “Right?” She looked up at him and showed him a weak smile. He didn’t want to let himself be discouraged, even though he had the sinking feeling that this entire break-through had serious effects. Just like sending Lucifer back had demanded Sam’s sacrifice. “So… You’re ready to gank Dick then?”

“Unfortunately,” Sam spoke up, not having left his seat to come any closer, “it is not something we can do. As Dean said, it is too late for him.” Dean frowned at that and his future self closed his eyes for a moment, forehead wrinkled. For the first time Dean saw the lines on his face and the silver shining in his hair. When he opened his eyes again he settled them firmly on Dean.

“He is right. I can’t do anything about it. But someone else can,” he turned his head to the side and looked at Castiel. She frowned down at the page until the other Dean reached out and forced her chin up. “There is one mythological figure in their stories that links both the Gospel and the prophecy of the Laments.” He let her go again once Castiel no longer averted her eyes.

“What? _Cas_? What does he have to do with leviathan stuff?” Dean demanded to know. The other Dean pulled the gospel out of Castiel’s hands.

“Leviathans are beasts, they have a thing for virgin sacrifices,” he said as if that explained everything, but Dean just glared at him in annoyance. His future self groaned in annoyance. “Do I have to spell it out? Virgin angel strong enough to hold them without exploding and stupid enough to open the door means prophecy fulfilled. He is their Virgin Mother, their designed Queen to steady their reign on this plane.” Dean looked at Castiel, whose face was mostly calm, apart from the skin between her brows wrinkling in displeasure.

“Yeah… I know. Kinda… Though their oedipal fixation on him puts me slightly off,” he tried to joke and the other Dean snorted. “But you can just say no, right?” Dean asked, looking at Castiel, who continued resolutely avoiding everyone’s eyes, “that’s what I did. And it kinda worked out in the end.”

“Right, that went very well,” the other man said dryly and with a self-depreciating roll of the eyes. “The point is that Cas can’t say no.” Dean gave a start at that, blinking at the man opposite him. Surely he hadn’t heard right, but the other Dean just regarded him with a glare. Dean wanted to shout something, outraged at the implication that he would want Cas to give herself over to the leviathans.

“The leviathans expect that once they have the Queen they will reign supreme,” Sam started to explain, leaning back casually and completely undisturbed by the content of their conversation. “And they will. But they don’t have to do so here.” He pointed over to the other book. “There is one antagonistic figure within Leviathan lore, one that can rise against them, but will eventually fail,” he went on to explain, “he is called by a multitude of names within the many oral stories that were written down as gospel, but one of them should be familiar to you.”

“The Righteous Man.” It was Castiel who spoke the words, slowly, calmly and when Dean – both of them actually, but wearing different expressions – looked over at her she lifted her head. She did look at neither of them, her eyes wearing a far-away look.

“What…? Me… Us, I mean? Are we still on about that stupid Righteous Man crap? Because I sure as hell-“ Dean started to argue, but it was Sam who spoke again.

“That is still you. Like humans and like beasts, angels do hold on to their figureheads, even if they have proven themselves to be redundant.” Dean frowned at Sam.

“Wow, thank you Sam, for the pep –talk,” he snorted, but the other Dean lifted his hand in a dismissive and tired wave.

“Leave him be,” he said and turned back to Castiel. “The gospel writes the Righteous Man off as nothing but a potential danger, that’s why they were trying to take us out. But they were too unconcerned to really try their best.” A hollow grin stretched future Dean’s lips, but his eyes shone cold with grim satisfaction. “They would have worked harder if they had known about the Laments.”

“The only one apart from God who can kill leviathans is the one they aptly named the Grand Fisher. That would be you,” Sam explained, flicking his fingers in both Deans’ general direction, but his eyes were trailed on Castiel.

“So why can’t we be?” Dean demanded to know once Castiel had averted her eyes, “not that I want to be any prophesized hero again, but I sure as hell wouldn’t mind knowing more about how to take down Dick!”

“We just can’t. Okay? Drop it,” the older Dean hissed at him, wiping his hand over his face. “We tried to look for an alternative once it became obvious that the Grand Fisher was out of the picture.”

“So? And why’s that?” Dean asked, getting tired of this, being handed only bits and pieces of information that might save his entire time line, but he was still listening. This was important, this was knowledge he could take home to Sam and make Frank and Crowley dig up more for them.

“Remember that figure that shows up in both texts?” Sam asked with a raised eyebrow and Dean’s eyes darted to Castiel, who was pale faced and still trying to avoid looking at anyone.

“The name’s _Leucothea_ ,” the other Dean spoke up, “the White Goddess.” The Winchester’s eyes were trailed on Castiel and Dean couldn’t help following their example. Castiel had shrunk back, getting closer to Dean and away from her contemporaries, but it was pointless. The other Dean’s expression changed from calm and assessing, to angry within a fraction of a second. Dean wondered if that was something Castiel had to watch on his face too all of the time. It was an ugly expression. “So you _know_! You know and you didn’t do anything!” Dean of the future shouted, rising up on his feet and towering over Castiel and Dean who had remained seated.

“Calm down!” Dean shouted, glaring up at himself and then directing his gaze at Castiel. “What’s going on?”

“It took us quite a long time to draw the parallels. We’ve been looking for that elusive Leucothea for three months before we finally made the connection. And she’s been here all along! Playing human, playing angel!” The other Dean was still shouting and Dean didn’t even try to stop him. Even though he felt like a bastard for it, he actually understood his anger. The other Dean’s eyes narrowed at Castiel’s silence, even when she looked up at him with wide, imploring eyes. “That’s why an arch-angel’s blade didn’t kill you, that’s why you could breech our circles. You’re a goddess!”

Silence followed this last statement, heavy and suffocating, only broken shortly by the sound of the fire spitting. Castiel didn’t say anything, Sam continued to watch and Dean was glaring at her. At least one of them, for the other’s expression was far more wide-eyed disbelief with an oncoming frown of confusion and wariness.

“What the hell are you talking about?” Dean asked and looked from the other Dean, who just cocked his eyebrows at him, to Castiel herself. “You’re a goddess?”

“No,” she insisted and future Dean balled his hands into fists, taking a step closer so that had both got up on their feet as well. “I’m not a goddess!”

“Not yet,” Sam helpfully added, crossing his arms with an amused expression as he watched the argument unfold. “That’s the potential, but it’s an active decision she has to make. Empress of the Leviathan, Queen of Purgatory,” Sam said with pleasure, looking up at the cloudy sky overhead, “it’s not bad, not for an angel that forfeited its place upstairs.” Castiel lowered her head and Dean glared at Sam.

“What the hell is your problem, Sam? You’re being far too passive-aggressive for my taste!” Sam looked at him with an almost pitying smile, his eyebrows both raised, then he looked over at his brother. Dean did the same, but his future self just shook his head and he looked so tired, Dean was almost afraid he’d fall over and die. He already started pitying himself, instead of being angry. If Sam could cause such an expression in Dean, something must be seriously wrong.

“Go get the food out of the Impala,” he said, but didn’t look over at Sam, who just sighed and got up on his feet.

“What’s wrong with him…?” Dean asked, when his future self pinched the bridge of his nose.

“His wall’s gone, that’s wrong,” was the reply he got and future Dean’s tiredness left in favor of anger. He looked over at Castiel, who did meet his look with one of despair and pain. “Everything’s wrong and you’re just not doing anything.”

“I’m sorry,” she said and Dean was surprised that his future self actually looked sad at that.

“I know, but it changes nothing. You left everything in a shattered mess,” he replied and Castiel fell into silence once again. Dean frowned at both of them, watching them not talk and just stare at each other.

“Come on, man. I understand you, probably better than anyone,” Dean started, “but he’s cleaning up.” His future self actually had the gall to chuckle at that, small and hollow, leaving his eyes cold.

“Don’t tell me that you think that’s enough,” he replied icily and Dean bit back a retort, “not when you know that Castiel has the means to end it. Has had it for months.” Future Dean shoved him away and stepped up into Castiel’s personal space. She wasn’t exactly impressed by him looming over her, but she wasn’t happy either, her face pinched. “It’s time to end it.” Castiel looked at him in silence, but then she sighed, the sound chilling Dean to the bone.

“If that is what you want,” she started, licking her lips before she continued, “then I do what it takes.” Dean stared at both of them in shock and disbelief. This was exactly like Frank had said; if Dean asked Cas to do something, he would. No matter what it was that Dean was demanding of him, he was desperate enough to redeem himself that he’d rather give himself over to the Leviathan than tell Dean no.

“For fuck’s sake,” Dean ground out, “are you both completely nuts?!” His future self merely regarded him with a frown, while Castiel turned her head away from his incredulous stare. “Cas, you can’t be serious! You can’t just go throw yourself away because of some stupid prophecy!” Castiel didn’t say anything so Dean grabbed her shoulder, but it was the other Dean that took his wrist and made him let her go. Dean was bristling with anger at his inability to do anything about this situation. He snatched his hand back out of his future self’s grip and turned his attention back to Castiel. “Since when do we believe in prophecies?! Cas, you don’t need to do this! That’s not the right way to redeem yourself!”

“This is not your time,” his future self said, forcing him backwards and a few steps away from Castiel. “This is not your decision to make. You don’t fight a war without sacrifices!”

“Why?! Why has it always got to be family?! You can’t be okay with this!” Dean hissed and for a moment the other man’s eyes softened. Even though it lasted nothing more but a second and Dean was roughly shoved backwards, it had been enough to read the answer to his question. He didn’t want to do it, but there was no other way. It wasn’t that he didn’t care, but that it didn’t matter what he wanted. He just wanted to be done, he wanted this chaos to finally end. And this was the way to do it. Castiel was one of many casualties on the way to the end.

“Cas… come on, man…,” Dean implored, looking over at her and hoping despite everything that she’d change her mind. His future self lowered his eyebrows at Dean.

“Can I talk to you for a moment?” he asked and Dean wanted to shout no in his face, because at least someone got to, but Castiel was crossing her arms over her chest, turning away from them. Dean saw that she was trying to think, but he didn’t want her to make up her mind all on her own. He wanted to make her see that this wasn’t worth it, but in the end he nodded.

His future self led him away from the circle in which the fire was, past Sam, who was idly leaning against the hood of the impala, watching them pass him with a smile on his face. Dean could still see the fire’s light where they stood, he could see Castiel sitting down on the ground, her head lowered and her hands folded as if in prayer.

“Why are you here? Who sent you?” Dean turned his head to where his future self was leaning against the back wall of a tiny building.

“Is that really the question that you need to ask here?” he retorted and pointed over to Castiel. “When you’re doing the most-“

“Just answer the question,” his future self interrupted him, a hard glare directed his way. Dean took a sharp breath through his nose, but he mustn’t forget that his time left here wasn’t unlimited. There was no point in wasting precious minutes with dancing around the problems.

“We conducted a ritual. My memories are a bit fuzzy about it, but I know that I wanted to go back to the other 2014, the one we prevented.” The snort that followed this answer wasn’t totally unexpected, neither was it completely undeserved. “We wanted to get Cas’ blood and the Colt. Possibly information about the leviathans from Lucifer. And, seeing as I had an archangel blade with me, killing him in return for getting the Colt was probably on the table too.”

“So you wanted to try your luck with the Colt against Dick, probably with some modified bullets,” his future self summed up and when Dean nodded, he shook his head. “You’re an idiot.”

“Even Cas said it could work! It could send them back to Purgatory if we did it right!” Dean argued, but the other man just pushed himself off the wall and glared at him.

“You wouldn’t do it right. We tried to use the Colt against Lucifer and it failed. We lost Jo and Ellen because of it! And you want to take a small weapon, built for monsters that were once human, against something like leviathans?! What do you think will happen?!”

“It’s not as if we’ve got anything else!” Dean shouted back, not impressing himself in the least. Dean took a step closer to him and it was so strange staring into a face two years older than his and already feeling himself turn into. It was almost worse than last time, because then he had been so sure that he would never let it come to this.

“We do, we have the most efficient weapon against them!” the other Dean hissed at him, getting so close he could see the freckles splattered over his nose and cheeks and the lines etched around his eyes, his mouth, his forehead. Dean stared at him, but after a few moments he took a step back and shook his head.

“Remember what that other Dean in Zach’s future did?” he asked and the man opposite him narrowed his eyes. “He sacrifice Cas as a diversion! And we said that we’d never do that!”

“Yes, and I remember what the other Dean retorted,” his future self said, his voice rough and barely above a whisper. “He said that we were in that mess because we didn’t sacrifice our friends. The situation hasn’t changed, Dean. Nothing about it has changed and we’re as helpless to just watch it unfold as we were the last time.” Dean shook his head.

“No. That’s not true. You have a choice here. All you’re doing is treating Cas like nothing more than a weapon to use. You’re sacrificing him because you know exactly how much Cas needs you to forgive him.”

“This is not a question of forgiveness and you know it,” his future self said, turning his head slightly to the side to watch their campsite. “And it’s not as if you have a moral high-ground. No matter what time you’re from, you’ve used Cas and you’ve emotionally manipulated him because you know how much you mean to him. We always did and we knew how to use it against him.” Dean didn’t say anything because there was no point in denying it or lying to himself. The other Dean sighed and drew his hand through his hair. “Listen man,” he started and looked at Dean, “I know this is a fucked up situation. But I’m done… “ He huffed a sigh and he was smiling slightly, an ugly small thing, loaded with self-loathing and powerlessness. “We’ve been on the run and looking for a solution for years now. And this is it… And I don’t care what you think. Go back to your time and try your best.” And with this the other Dean turned away from him and made his way back to the camp. Dean watched him go, looked how he passed Sam with whom he exchanged a few quietly spoke words before he rejoined Castiel. He sat down next to her, arms crossed over his chest, and glared into the fire while she watched him. Dean wanted to drive his fist into the wall. His frustration and anger and no small amount of despair made him feel like exploding. He wanted to get out of here, he wanted to shake both of them and he wanted to know how to end this without driving them all to an inevitable death. He didn’t want it to end like this, but he didn’t know what to do other than what his future self had just told him to: go home.

He slowly made his way back to the fire after Sam had left his spot by the Impala.

“What are you going to do?” Dean asked, when he rejoined the natives of this time, not sitting down as close to Castiel as he would wish to, but there was a graspable tension between her and his future self that he didn’t want to get caught up in. The other Dean pulled something out of his jacket, a small wooden box with lots of carvings covering every surface.

“What Cas is up to is her decision. Sam and I will depart in less than two hours.” Castiel looked up at him in confusion, even after Dean had put the sealed box into her hands.

“Why? What are you going to do?” she asked and it was obvious that she didn’t want them to leave again, now that they were finally reunited.

“It’s too dangerous to stay in one place for long. The leviathans are still after us,” the other Dean told her, “and there’s something we got to do in Michigan.” The last he said with a look over at Dean from the corner of his eyes and Dean frowned.

“So… We’re parting ways soon then,” Dean said slowly, still trying to decipher the look he had received, “well… Cas and me need to head to… What was it? Illinois?” Castiel nodded wordlessly, then she looked over at the other Dean again.

“Just open it,” he said when she didn’t do anything with the box, “we found it during our travels. It was difficult to obtain, but it’s the real deal. Forged 600 years ago we were told.” Castiel seemed confused by that, but she opened the box. Dean looked over at them and blinked in surprise when all that Castiel held up was a plain, old key. But form the look in Castiel’s eyes, she knew exactly what it was and it must have been special.

“What’s that?” Dean asked and Castiel turned the heavy looking key around her fingers. Nobody deigned it necessary to give him an answer, instead Castiel looked up at the other Dean.

“Thank you,” she said and lowered her head again, “I’ve stopped looking for it…” Dean was slightly irritated at not being in the loop, because that shabby key must be somehow important. He watched Dean look at her, just looking, but then he got up, putting his hand around he forearm and pulling her up as well. Both Castiel and Dean were surprised, while Sam just continued reading.

“I need to talk to you,” Dean’s future self said and glared at him, “alone.” Castiel seemed as surprised as Dean was.

“Dude,” Dean argued, but his future self just rolled his eyes at him, “honestly?”

“Shut up,” the other man hissed at him and Dean didn’t quite know what to do with the churning, bitter feeling in the pit of his stomach. “Are you coming?” Castiel shot Dean a look, but he forced himself to shrug and she nodded.

“Of course.” Dean watched them for a second, unsure if he even had a reason to feel so immaturely jealous, but then he remembered something and opened his bag. Better safe than sorry.

“Hey! Wait a second!” The other Dean stopped and turned around, just in time to catch the small box Dean had thrown at him. He looked down at it, finding it to be the box of condoms. “If you decide to give him the last night on earth speech.”

“Very funny, smartass,” his future self snorted at him, while Castiel actually looked slightly panicked before Dean turned her around and left their make-shift camp site.

“So you bring a pack of condoms to your time-travelling adventures,” Sam spoke up and Dean recalled that he was now alone with Sam. It should make him feel at ease, but something about him was off, even as he closed the book with a smile and walked over to sit down next to Dean.

“I thought I was headed for somewhere else, somewhere with orgies,” he half joked, unsure whether this Sam would understand that there was a lot more truth to it than he let on. He must have told Sam some well-kept secrets about his short trip to the future before they conducted the ritual, but he couldn’t remember it. Sam just shrugged.

“No matter what future you visit, there are certain facts that are immovable,” Sam said and turned his head to smile at Dean. “It doesn’t quite matter what details you change, you’ll end up at the same place.” A small chill went through Dean at Sam’s words and he frowned at him.

“Why would you say that?” he asked, “we’ve changed the future before, you jumped into the pit, there is no Croatoan apocalypse, Cas isn’t mortal.”

“As I said, details,” Sam corrected, “he still said yes, Castiel still was mortal, you still end up with nothing but a hollow ache and the world is still ending. Not quite like planned, but I am here and humanity is slowly disappearing from the surface of this planet.” Dean lowered his brows, but then he widened his eyes and would have jumped up if Sam hadn’t put his hand around Dean’s wrist. “You mustn’t disturb the unfolding of Dean and Castiel’s romantic tragedy,” he told him pleasantly. “Why don’t you stay and talk? Dean rarely talks.”

“Why,” Dean started but had to stop, his entire form seized by a bone-shaking chill and the scream died in his throat when he looked at the almost pitying smile on his brother’s face. All he could force out as a pained groan was another “why”.

“It was supposed to happen. My brother did me a great favor by tearing down that terribly irritating wall you had put up.” Dean was unable to move and the man in front of him still smiled, tilting his head slightly to the side. “Why are you so surprised, Dean? I had to win.”

“Win?!” Dean finally forced out and pulled his arm from Sam’s grip. Sam! Why hadn’t the other Dean said anything?! Why hadn’t he realized that what sat before him wasn’t Sam?! “How can you possibly consider this winning?!”

“Don’t be so dramatic, Dean,” Lucifer said, drawing his hands through his hair and tugging them behind his ears. Dean actually took a moment to process this shocking development, forcing his terrified mind into at least some semblance of calm. There was no white suit and he was traveling around with Dean instead of raining down fire and lightning on everyone. There were no demons, nothing to hunt. Sam’s clothes were slightly dirty, his hair not freshly washed. Nothing about him was that pristine being in a glaringly white suit. Dean widened his eyes in sudden realization.

“You’re mortal!” Lucifer sighed, seemingly only mildly irritated. “You’re stranded and graceless, just like Cas was in that other future!”

“What did I say about details, Dean?” Lucifer asked him, totally unconcerned and Dean didn’t actually find it within himself to be only the slightest bit happy about that development. Because Sam… Sam was lost once again. “Fate is a really peculiar thing, don’t you think?” Lucifer asked.

“There’s no more such thing, we stopped all that destiny crap,” Dean ground out, glaring at the fire so he didn’t have to look at what was left of his brother.

“And yet we are here. What damage one angel can do when he’s been influenced by humans,” he mused and Dean wanted to shut him up. It might even be satisfying to slam his fist into Lucifer’s face, knowing he could knock him out, knowing he could actually kill him with his very hands. But what point was there to it? He would just kill Sam too, if he still was in there.

“What will happened to Cas?” Dean forced himself to ask, because Lucifer might be a complete dick and Dean was shaken to the bones, but he was still a source of information.

“Very similar to that annoying little stunt you pulled with me,” Lucifer told him, “he’s going to gather them and return to Purgatory with them. Becoming the White Goddess will give him enough strength to do it. The Leviathan were a bit careless when they tried to put him back together according to their wishes. They should have kept him weak, tearing out the rest of his mutated Grace instead of just leaving it underneath all that leviathan filth. By trying to fulfill their prophecy, they also doomed themselves back to Purgatory. Not that they’ll care that much if they have their Queen.”

“So… Cas will be gone…?” Lucifer nodded, “why can’t he just toss them back without jumping in there as well?”

“Because he’s already becoming one of them, I’m sure you noticed all the ways he’s different. It’s too late. If you want the Leviathan gone from Earth that’s the only way to do it now.” Lucifer wasn’t very sympathetic, not that Dean had expected anything else, but the thought of losing Castiel to the Leviathan once again was almost as terrible as the thought of soon losing Sam.

“There’s got to be a way to stop this future from happening,” he hissed and Lucifer just leant back against their supplies, arms crossed and he watched Dean with a pleased smile.

“Yes? Feel free to try,” he said and closed his eyes, the smile still staying in place. Dean was left to his own devices, with the shell of his brother falling into a light sleep and the fire throwing shades across his face.

So he was bound to fail. He didn’t know how it had happened, how the devil had slipped out of the hallucinations and into the body of Sam. He didn’t know what had happened at the bottom of the lake where Castiel had perished. He didn’t know what was going on in this time. He felt powerless and weak, tired and afraid. He wanted to go home, but he was scared that he would just end up here again once the two years had passed.

Dean closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

“Sam? Can you hear me?” he asked, but only the fire and the even breathing of Lucifer replied. Dean squeezed his eyes shut, “come on. Come on. Sammy?”

_“Dean?”_ The voice was weak and confused, but it was Sam. Dean breathed a sigh of relief.

“Thank God. Sorry, I just had to make sure you were still okay,” he said and next to Lucifer he could now also hear the deep, almost sleepy breathing of his brother, two years away, but still safe.

_“Is everything okay?”_ Sam asked him, his voice now full of concern. Dean couldn’t help smiling, shaking his head.

“No… No, nothing’s okay here. It’s mad… Sorry… I just… Sorry, it’s been a crazy few days.” Sam actually chuckled and Dean could hear him take a sip of something, probably coffee. “Hey, Sammy?”

_“Hm?”_ Dean looked over at Lucifer’s sleeping form, just like Sam when his mouth wasn’t stretched into that unfamiliar, superior smile.

“I know you don’t like it, but it’d be best if you just went to sleep,” he said after a while. Judged by the impatient sigh on the other side of their soul-mate phone Sam wasn’t about to grant his request. “Sam, I’m being serious. You shouldn’t take your hallucinations lightly.”

_“Believe me Dean, I’m not. But I do know my limits,”_ he said, _“and I’d rather breech them than let you be stranded in the future.”_

“No, Sam, please.”

_“No. It’s already past 6. I can manage till noon,”_ he assured him but Dean wasn’t happy. Every moment Sam pushed beyond his limits, Lucifer might be getting one step closer _. “Why are you so desperate to get me to stop?”_

“Because Cas will be able to send me back and because…,” he had to clear his throat and look away from Sam’s body now sprawled over the blanket. “You’re not well in this time, Sam… I don’t want this to happen to you.” Sam was silent for a long moment and Dean was afraid that the already faint connection had broken off. Maybe he should have left the circle to get better reception, but he didn’t dare to move away from camp.

_“Okay,”_ Sam said, _“I can only pull you back if you’re at the designed place. I’m not sure if I can pull you back earlier, but I can at least try.”_

“Dude, I’m in Pennsylvania. How am I supposed to get to Illinois without Cas?” he hissed and looked around. Castiel was nowhere to be seen and he didn’t hear any voices either.

_“And where is Cas?”_ Sam wondered and Dean got up from his place at the fireside. He walked around, following the lines in the ground, to get the feeling back into his legs and maybe calm his nerves down as well.

“Hell if I know. Future me is probably giving him the last night on earth speech,” he said in irritation, a bit glad that Sam laughed at that.

_“Dude, no, you’re not!”_ he protested and Dean only shrugged. Even though Sam couldn’t see it Dean huffed. _“Oh my god, you totally are!”_ Hearing the incredulous laughter in Sam’s voice made Dean smile despite his rather subdued mood.

“I don’t know if he is, man! And in my – _his_ defenses, Cas got the body of a hot chick right now. Smells quite nice too.” Dean wondered if his future self could smell it too and if he had better self-control in case he did.

_“Sure.”_ Dean could hear the smile in Sam’s voice and he let himself grin too. _“So… How will you get to Illinois?”_

“I don’t know…,” Dean said with a groan, wiping his palm over his face, “I have to wait for Cas… This would be so much easier if you just listened to your big brother.”

_“But I won’t, so stop whining,”_ Sam said with finality and Dean hated how stubborn Sam had to be at times. _“People can live for a while without sleep.”_ Dean snorted.

“If that was supposed to encourage me, it totally failed. And even if that’s true, normal people don’t have Satan parading through their head,” he argued and the huff on the other side implied that Sam rolled his eyes at him. Then Sam yawned and Dean sighed. “Okay, I think this is not helping you to stay lucid. Just…”

_“I know. You try to stay out of trouble those last couple of hours,”_ Sam told him, then, with a sharper voice added: _“no stupid heroic stuff, okay?”_

“What?” Dean asked with a bemused expression, shaking his head at his brother, “You know I’m not into heroic stuff.”

_“Yeah, whatever Dean. Just get your ass where it’s supposed to be,”_ he said and Dean just had time enough to hum in agreement before silence settled again in his ears. He listened some more, just in case Sam had anything else to say, but he only heard the fire and a faint blowing. The sky in the distance was getting darker again, like storm clouds closing in on them. There was still a lot of that muted daylight and a look at his watch confirmed that it was about twenty past 6 in his own time. So it must be after two in the afternoon, but it was as always hard to tell.

Not seeing Dean and Castiel returning and believing that no matter what the two of them were up to, it might take them more than just a moment, Dean sat back down, grabbing the Leviathan Gospel. The other Dean must have taken the Lament with him again, which was quite a shame seeing as that one seemed to be more valuable in terms of usefulness. Looking through the very first page, translation and origin note excluded, Dean soon realized that it would be quite a strain to work through this book. It wasn’t written in verses, thank God, but it was still strangely poetic in its wording. He could recognize his own notes in the margins of the book, trying to decipher the metaphors and terms, noting down references to other parts in the book and various other things. Dean sighed and set himself to the task of reading through the mythological foundation of the Leviathan.

* * *

 

By the time Castiel returned to his side, Dean had almost read the entire small book. There wasn’t much in terms of content, but it was difficult enough to make sense of it. In the grossest of terms, the Gospel seemed to be about their creation and consequent abandonment by God. The long wait for the mother that would open the gates back into this realm was what made up most of the story, but while Dean thought it was mostly rubbish, they were oddly accurate about their prediction of who, or more specifically what, it would be. It just made him hope they were wrong about being able to stabilize their empire and about him and his failure to rise against them.

“Have you read the book?” Castiel asked and Dean was a bit surprised to actually be met with the rough voice of Castiel’s male form. He blinked up at him in surprise and Castiel tilted his head.

“Uh…” It wasn’t the most intelligent thing to say, but he watched the other Dean walk into their secured camp as well and how Castiel followed his movements with his eyes, never once averting them, even when future Dean glared at them both. “Not the ending though. And not the Lament.” Castiel sat down next to him, arms folded on top of his knees. “Are you alright?” he asked, quite concerned. Castiel looked away, but he smiled, shrugging.

“You don’t need to know the ending, you just need the hard facts,” the other Dean said and the other two watched him walk over to Lucifer, shaking his shoulder to wake him. Dean was a bit surprised how gentle he was, speaking in a low voice to him until Lucifer had blinked the disorientation out of his eyes. “They’re just a bunch of oversized and overpowered goo with a massive oedipal fixation on their Mom,” he continued when Lucifer was up and Dean couldn’t help snorting at that.

“Yeah, I got that,” he said, muttering a sorry when Castiel sighed deeply.

“Their Virgin Mother…,” future Dean continued, walking back up to where Dean and Castiel were sitting, “well, think Eve, just bigger. With the leviathans it’s all about the Mother. But lucky for us, she’s not quite more than an object to them. If Dick possesses her, he thinks he’ll be invincible.”

“Won’t he be? I thought it was all about stabilizing their reign?” Dean wondered, going through the last few pages of the book.

“Yeah, but the thing is, that once the Virgin Mother’s body is strong enough, she’s actually far superior to the leviathans. And lucky for us, they don’t know that. She can’t kill their own, but she can transfer them into another cage,” the other Dean explained. Dean sighed and looked to the side, where Castiel was now looking at him, chin propped up on his knuckles.

“You’re both very calm about this now…,” he observed and Castiel smiled gently. It made Dean wince and shake his head. “You’re such an idiot, Cas. You really don’t have to do this.”

“I have not decided yet, Dean. But it’s best to know all options,” he said and looked over Dean’s head to where the other one was looking down at them both. Dean groaned, feeling pretty much defeated, but then he closed the book and handed it to his future self.

“So you’re leaving?” he asked him and got up on his feet. His other self nodded and Dean took a step closer. He looked past the other man, seeing Lucifer collecting some bags and carrying them to where the Impala was parked. “Why?”

“Why what?” the other Dean asked, an eyebrow raised in confusion and Dean cocked his head towards where Lucifer had disappeared.

“What happened? How did Lucifer get into him again?” Dean watched the expression on his counterpart’s face change from confusion to realization and then resignation. “How could that happen?”

“Dean,” the other man started, “that’s not…,” he faltered, searching for the right words. After a moment he looked back up at Dean. “That’s still Sam.” Dean took a second for the words to sink in and then he almost stumbled a step backwards.

_“What?”_

“It’s Sam, not Lucifer… He just…” The other Dean shrugged, looking down at the ground. “It started with hallucinations… For a while Sam had them under control… But then… I don’t know… he started getting these episodes, like waking nightmares and it was harder and harder to pull him back. And one day… He just started referring to himself as Lucifer. Sometimes for just moments before he snapped out of it again. But it got worse and worse… I can’t get Sam back anymore…”

“He’s imagining… _Shit_ ,” Dean hissed and dragged his hand through his hair. “Shit!” Dean now understood the tiredness in Dean’s eyes, the reason why he had stopped trying to fight. The reason he was done. The other Dean just nodded, but didn’t think it necessary to elaborate. Dean just stared at him helplessly, but then his breath caught in this throat and he widened his eyes. “So… Michigan…?”

“That’s where we went to kill the Devil in Zach’s future… Lucifer was probably right. That’ll always be the end for us.” Dean shook his head in disbelief but he couldn’t get any words out. His future self snorted, his lips pulled up into a mirthless smirk. He pulled something out of the pocket of his trousers and handed it to Dean. He saw that it was the box of condoms. “Keep away from supernatural women. If you absolutely must,” he said and sighed, “use a condom. Alright?” Dean just stared at him in disbelief and his future self patted him on the chest, before he walked around him to where Castiel was standing. Dean slowly turned around and saw the two of them look at each other. It was almost awkward to watch them staring in silence, but after a while Castiel actually swallowed and held out his hand. The other Dean grinned and shook it. “I’ll see you sooner or later, Cas.”

“Better later,” he said and the smile on his face broke, but the other Dean pulled at his hand until he had him in an embrace. Dean turned away from them and saw Sam sitting on the hood of the Impala again, rubbing his hands absent-mindedly.

“Sam?” Sam did look up, even if his mind wasn’t quite right anymore. “Don’t do anything stupid. Try to get off the grid, go back to Europe, enjoy life. If you can, just take the wheel away from your brother and drive straight back to Norfolk, get the next ship.” Sam looked puzzled at first, but then he smiled. “Take care of yourself and your brother, okay Sammy?”

“Yes,” Sam said and Dean was unsure whether the smile he received was genuine or just one of Lucifer’s indulging ones. But it didn’t matter. “Good-bye, Dean.” Dean had to turn away and watched as his future self got into the car. He shot him one last look, encouraging, pitying, warning, Dean wasn’t sure.

Castiel and Dean watched the Winchesters starting the car and, without another look back, drive off.

“Your time is horrible,” Dean finally said, when the Impala was nothing more than a cloud of dust getting lost in the distance. Castiel looked up at him, his eyes moist, but he was smiling.

“I know,” was all he said and Dean pulled him into a one-armed hug. He didn’t say anything when he felt the shivers of the body pressed against his side.

* * *

 

Dean didn’t press Castiel to get moving right away, allowing him a couple of minutes to compose himself. The storm clouds had moved closer in the last thirty minutes and they still had time left. Enough time to leave Castiel in a less devastated state. Admittedly, Sam’s madness had planted a new sense of urgency within him and he wanted to be gone, to shake his brother, to make sure that he knew what was real and who he was. This would mean to leave Castiel behind though and while Dean knew that technically he had kept his promise and that technically he didn’t own Castiel anything at this point in time… He couldn’t just ignore the deep seated pain within him, he couldn’t ignore the shivers or the moisture in his eyes or the way his lip quivered when his eyes focused on Dean, as if making sure that he was still here.

So he waited.

Castiel was standing just at the outskirts of a circle when Dean went to find him, looking out to the brewing storm. He was still in his male form, apparently well rested enough. And if he was shaking slightly it probably was for a different reason than exhaustion.

“Cas?” Castiel turned towards him and tilted his head. “You okay?”

“Yes, thank you. I am merely thinking,” he replied, his voice calmer than Dean had expected, “the conversation with Dean has left me both with a clearer mind but also with more uncertainty.” Dean lifted an eyebrow, taking a step closer to Castiel.

“What? So you two were just talking?” he asked with a teasing grin, trying to coax a smile out of him as well. Castiel lowered his eyebrows at Dean in disapproval, but then he snorted. While it wasn’t a smile, it wasn’t as bitter anymore. “I’m sorry,” Dean said, “so what did you talk about?”

“Responsibility,” Castiel replied and Dean bit back a groan. He noticed that Castiel was still turning the key around in his fingers. “Leaving…”

“Cas… What’s that key for?” Dean asked, reaching out to cover Castiel’s palm with his. The metal of the key had warmed and he felt a faint, almost pleasant vibration within it. Some supernatural object then. Castiel didn’t pull away and let Dean take the key to study it. It was really nothing special at all; no etchings, no stains where it had been doused in blood. Just a plain, old key. He handed it back to Castiel, who studied it once more before he put it into his jeans’ pocket.

“It’s the _Petrus Key_ \- St. Peter’s Key,” he said and Dean lifted an eyebrow, clearly not remembering anything of that name. “Do you remember when I said that it wasn’t possible for me anymore to reach another plane of existence the conventional way?” Dean had to think a bit about it but he did remember.

“Yes, so it unlocks a door? Like, Heaven’s Gates or something?” he wondered and Castiel first tilted his head, before he decided to nod.

“In a manner, yes. The _Petrus Key_ will allow its wielder to create a pathway to another realm without requiring a physical gate. In the first few months of my resurrection I’ve been looking for it to get into contact with Heaven… But as the silence wore on and I busied myself with my new task… I put it off.”

“And why would Dean give it to you…? Do you need it for that Leucothea business?” Dean wondered, with an edge of anger in his voice. Surprisingly, Castiel shook his head and looked at Dean with a small smile.

“No…,” he said and looked down at their feet, “no.” Dean studied the top of Castiel’s head and he slowly understood.

“He gave you a way out.” It wasn’t a question; the moment the thought had appeared in his mind, he was sure that it was the right answer. Castiel’s nod only confirmed his assumption. For a moment relief flooded him, because no matter what happened, he wasn’t a completely lost case. Hard and world-weary as he was, he still cared. Dean had underestimated himself.

“Maybe you can understand yourself better,” Castiel said quietly and Dean took a step closer to him, so Castiel could reach out and curl his fingers around the fabric of Dean’s jacket. “But maybe this said… _I’m sorry_. Maybe it said,” he looked up and his expression was open and vulnerable in a way Dean hadn’t often seen him. “ _I forgive you_.” Dean took a sharp breath, then he wet his lips as his throat suddenly felt dry and his eyes started burning. There was no reason for him to get all emotional, but Castiel’s feelings were completely open before him. And he knew the answer to Castiel’s questions.

“Yeah… I guess,” he said and Castiel breathed in deeply before he leant forwards until his forehead touched Dean’s throat. Dean knew that his future self had given him a completely blank slate. He wasn’t forgiven, but Dean didn’t want to carry that grudge any longer, so he had released Castiel. Leaving him with two things; the responsibility to get rid of the Leviathan and the choice to turn his back upon the world.

It wasn’t a real freedom of choice though, Dean knew that. Dean expected Castiel to do the right thing, now that he had been given the option of fleeing and lacked the pressure of doing it for redemption. It was, as Frank had wished, the necessary move to set the board to checkmate. Castiel wouldn’t go against Dean’s wishes now. So future Dean cared, but he was still manipulative till the end.

“I’m sorry, Cas,” he couldn’t help saying, breathing in the fresh scent of Castiel’s hair. Castiel moved and stepped back enough to be able to look at Dean.

“Why?” Dean shrugged.

“Because I can’t be here much longer… I had that utopian idea that maybe you’d be able to join the other two. Like… I don’t know Team Free Will two or something.” It wasn’t what he had meant to say, but he couldn’t bear the thought of disappointing Castiel.

“I’ll get you to Illinois,” Castiel promised and went to retrieve his backpack, “you still should have enough time to collect my blood and prepare yourself for the journey back.” Dean nodded and joined Castiel when his wings materialized. The black arches against the backdrop of an oncoming storm were breath-taking.

“You’re still an angel, Cas…” he said and Castiel unexpectedly drew back at that, his wings folding up almost shyly. “Hey, wait… I didn’t… I mean…” He actually didn’t know what he meant, he didn’t even know why Castiel had reacted that way. “I’m sorry. I have no clue what was wrong about what I said. But I’m sorry.” That got Castiel to unfold his wings again, lifting his head slowly with a small, embarrassed smile on his lips.

“No… I just didn’t expect you to say that, not after everything you’ve heard.” Dean brushed that off.

“Come on, Cas. After all that I’ve seen you do?” Castiel’s smile widened a bit and he stepped closer, the wings throwing shadows over Dean’s face. “You could be the King of Purgatory if you’d like… I just don’t want you to change, not like you did after the souls… It wasn’t… you. You have to remember who you are, Cas. No matter where you go or what you do,” Dean said, his cheerful mood gone quickly and Castiel’s smile slipped too.

“I can try to promise… But I am not sure if a promise like this can be kept for as long as I exist,” he confessed. He made Dean hold on to the backpack, the procedure of flying now quite familiar to Dean.

“Just try,” Dean replied. Castiel didn’t give him an answer and shortly afterwards Dean was already soaring through the air, tasting an oncoming storm on his tongue.

* * *

 

Dean could still recall the abandoned bar, with its stripes of yellow light and muted scent of rotting things. He assumed that Castiel would guide him there, back into that jungle of overripe fruit and brackish water. But he didn’t. When Dean touched ground again he found himself on a patch of flattened grass. It smelled musty and moist, the scent tickling Dean’s nose and making him turn towards Castiel. He at least smelled fresh and clean, sweet and just a little bit salty. The strange but soothing fragrance that had long since become familiar to Dean calmed him somewhat and he was able to squint through the haze that lay over the mid-afternoon landscape. Longish patches of grass were growing a bit further off, their ends frayed and yellowish. It looked like the vegetation was wet and while the ground Dean stood on seemed to be perfectly fine, he wouldn’t be surprised to sink into bottomless depths if he took a step forwards. They probably were on the fringes of some sort of swamp and Dean was really glad that no stronger odors assaulted him. Maybe he was just lucky and finally getting used to this world, not that there was any point in it, now that he was leaving.

“That’s where I turned up? I expected that bar where I first regained consciousness,” he confessed and looked at Castiel, who was in the process of pulling on his backpack.

“You were lying on the wet grass close to where you stand now. You might have missed your aim. Time-travelling with angels is usually precise, but you had other means.” He started moving and Dean turned to follow him up a small hill. Dean didn’t know what they ~~both~~ were looking for, but he sure hoped that they soon found it. The moisture in the air was really uncomfortable and it still stank enough to make Dean screw up his nose and feel like pulling up the collar of his t-shirt in a childish display of disgust.

Fortunately, there were the remnants of a stone building a few meters off, the concrete floor was still there and the general outline of the small one room thing was recognizable by the walls of varying height. The roof had gone, but Castiel stepped into the former house without any concerns. Dean wondered how exactly Castiel managed to find those hide-outs in the middle of uncivilized, hostile nowhere. Castiel tossed the few stones and wooden bits out of the way and spread blankets and rugs on the floor. He even fixed some kind of sheet to the walls, creating a sad looking excuse for a roof. But at least it did give the semblance of a shelter and Dean was happy to sit under it while Castiel walked around the ground in a circle, warding the place and enabling Dean to breathe properly.

“May I have your knife?” Castiel asked once he had sat down next to Dean. “And the flask,” he added, when Dean pulled it out with a look of puzzlement. “You still want my blood, don’t you?” Dean sighed, because to be honest, he didn’t have much faith in the plan with the Cas-enhanced bullets. His future self had made his opinion on using the Colt pretty clear too. Dean nodded wordlessly though and set both knife and flask down on the floor. The angel watched with a slightly confused expression as Dean rolled up the sleeve to expose the pale underside of Castiel’s arm. “Don’t worry… I won’t die from blood-loss,” Castiel assured him when Dean’s hesitation dragged on. The hunter made a disgruntled sound, but took Ruby’s knife and made a clean cut in the soft flesh. Blood slipped down the arm almost immediately and Castiel moved his arm so that the blood ran down in a messy rivulet that Dean tried to catch most of. The sound of the blood dripping into the empty flask made Dean’s stomach queasy, the still vivid image of Cas bleeding out replaying in his mind. But Castiel was fine, watching the blood flow with no concern at all until the entire flask was full and Dean sealed it.

“Okay…” Dean started, but Castiel pulled out two of his rather big water flasks and put one of them into Dean’s hand. “Cas, one should be fine.”

“You don’t know that… I doubt you can come back and gather more should it not be enough. I’m not going to miss it, my body is already refilling what’s been lost,” he assured Dean, but it was with reluctance that Dean held the flask under Castiel’s arm. Only when that was full too did Castiel allow the wound to knit itself back together. Castiel wiggled his fingers, then he tilted his head and looked at the third flask. Dean followed the trail of his eyes and frowned at it. Other than Bobby’s flask, the  ones Castiel had were rather big, it would not surprise Dean if he had two liters of it to bring back home, surely that must be enough. “Give me Raphael’s blade,” Castiel demanded and Dean’s head shot up. He stared at him, trying to figure out if he had indeed heard right. When Castiel raised his eyebrows in apparent impatience, Dean frowned.

“What?! No!” he argued, “I’m not going to give you something that hurts you!”

“It doesn’t _kill_ me,” Castiel insisted – as if that changed much – and held out his hand stubbornly, “I want to try something.”

“I don’t like it,” Dean hissed when he no longer managed to ignore the hand held out to him. With a groan he gave Castiel the blade and watched him handle it with great care, before he licked his lips and pressed the tip to the hollow of his neck. “Woah! Stop that!” Dean shouted when red blood welled up around the cold metal, but Castiel seemed displeased with it, so he readjusted the blade and pushed again. Dean already had both hands on Castiel’s arms, trying to get him to stop whatever he was doing to himself, but then Castiel drew blood and he let go of him in surprise. He watched the thick black fluid run down Castiel’s chest and soak into his shirt.

“Good, I wasn’t sure it would work,” Castiel said and bent his upper body, so that the blood dropped on his knees. Dean was both fascinated and disgusted, but Castiel raising an eyebrow at him spurred him into motion. He took the third flask and unscrewed the cap before he pressed its opening to the wound just under the blade, while steadying Castiel with one hand at his shoulder. Other than with the human looking blood he drew, this wound seemed to cause Castiel discomfort. His eyebrows were knitted and Raphael’s blade slipped once, clanging against the bottle before he resettled it to push out more blood.

“Okay, okay, that’s enough,” Dean said, pulling away the flask and closing it. Despite the unease Dean felt, he still pulled the blade out of Castiel’s fingers and pushed his palm against the wound. The Leviathan blood was warm and sticky, just like human blood felt, but the smell it emitted was different. Dean pushed Castiel back up into an upright position and took his hand away when no more blood seeped through his fingers. The wound had closed over, but when Castiel wiped the blood away, there was still a faint scar. Dean decided not to think too much on that and focused on the flask. He moved it a bit, hearing the liquid inside. “What should I do with it, Cas? Drink it?” Castiel frowned at him, rubbing his fingers against the former wound, before he tried to wipe the blood off his clothes.

“The blood of a Leviathan is poison to most humans… So don’t try drinking it until you’re absolutely sure that you can stand it,” Castiel told him and Dean almost let the flask slip through his fingers.

“You actually _want_ me to drink it? You want me to drink your blood?!” Dean hissed in bafflement, but Castiel just shrugged. “Why?” Castiel seemed uncomfortable with the question and he took a moment to reply:

“I’m not sure…,” he confessed, “so don’t use it. Not yet.” Dean was utterly puzzled, but he nodded. They both fell into a silence Dean was sure should be better filled with words. These were their last few moments together, before Dean would return to a place where Cas was still gone, his brother still battled his madness and he still had nothing to fight Leviathan with. He almost wished for Zach or someone to stand next to him and tell him what he was supposed to learn from all of this, just so he could turn it upside down and do his own thing. But he had no idea what decisions had led to this world and he was almost sure that if he tried to frantically change anything he’d probably end up doing just what it took to get here. Where Castiel was going to say yes to Dick Roman’s courtship, where Sam was so far fallen into madness that he couldn’t remember who he was and where he himself was edging closer to self-destruction with every mile the Impala traveled towards the place where the Devil had snapped his neck.

It was Castiel calling his name that made him look up, finding his blue eyes trailed on him with a questioning look. Dean wiped his face with his hand, trying to clear his head and swallow down his panic to look at what Castiel showed him. It was a folded up paper, the white page he saw slightly crinkled.

“Yes, Cas?” he asked and watched Castiel chew his lips for a moment, another of these small human habits that still seemed kind of out of place on the supernatural being. It was very strange to think of him as a goddess wrapped into the familiar shape of Cas. So he mostly tried not to, even though he was sure it wouldn’t do him a whole lot of good.

“I have… thought about this for a very long time,” Castiel started, looking at his hands, “after I returned, restored but without a body and when I finally was released from the Leviathan’s clutches… I have wondered if it was my task now to bring back structure into a world that had fallen apart because of me. I thought…” Castiel reached up and scratched his head, a small, but not quite humorous smile gracing his lips as he looked at Dean. “It was a bit like Heaven after we’d stopped the Apocalypse. I knew I could do something when I was able to see the currents of life going through the spoilt earth. I decided helping humans when I noticed that they were actually willing to put up a resistance to Leviathan control…”

“Yes?” Dean said, trying to sound encouraging even though he had absolutely no idea what Castiel wanted to get to. It was enough to keep Castiel talking, his hands fiddling with the edges of the picture.

“I knew from the start that the Leviathan had plans for me… I knew that my place would be Purgatory - or Hell. But I thought… that it wasn’t time yet… That I still could do something on Earth, maybe do something that would make you forgive me.” Castiel shook his head and unfolded the piece of paper. Dean saw that it was a drawing, probably made by a child. He could see triangles and wobbly blobs of color creating a picture of a mass of brightly colored stick figures and over them all a figure with big black wings, shielding them and raining down yellow beams of light.

“Is that the picture you received from that girl a couple of days ago?” Dean wondered and Castiel nodded slowly, studying it with the same intensity and seriousness as if it were an intricate spell. “Cute, I guess… But why are you looking at it like this…?” Castiel sighed and raised his head to look Dean in the eyes.

“Because I’m…” he stopped and wrinkled his brow, “still an angel. Not only in your eyes, but also in those of the people I decided to watch over.” Dean nodded at that.

“Yes, but I don’t think I can quite follow you,” he told Castiel and the look in the blue eyes was intense. A glimpse of the fierce person Dean still remembered Castiel to be.

“Because angels are not guardians. They’re warriors,” he told him and Dean blinked at him in surprise. “I’ve hidden behind my fear that without me and without the Leviathan’s structure, humanity would just fall apart. What form of society could possibly rise to fill those gaps? What will humans do that lived in the Compounds, cut off from the rest of the world?” Dean, surprised as he was by Castiel’s train of thought, pondered it for a moment.

“Well, Europe seems to be pretty tough. I guess America’ll just become a colony again,” he joked and Castiel’s intense glare actually lightened and he had to shake his head. Dean reached out to put his hand on Castiel’s arm. “Cas… I don’t want to encourage you to do something harmful, but don’t worry about humans… You know we can pull ourselves together and create something new, right?” Castiel didn’t answer, but he did smile. He folded the picture and put it back into his bag.

“I assume then that now is the time to pick back up the sword and the crown,” Castiel said and got up. For a moment Dean was confused, but then Castiel held out his hand and pulled him to his feet. Castiel looked at Dean with a fond smile and it almost made Dean back off slightly in shyness. “Thank you.”

“For what? Dude, I haven’t done anything,” he said, looking at the floor. The feeling that this was good-bye made Dean want to turn and run fast, trying to stay for far longer. They still had time!

“You’ve kept me company… It’s been…” Castiel shook his head and smiled at Dean, “really lonely. I missed you, Dean… I was glad to be able to see you again and talk to your future self…”

“Are you sending me back?” Dean asked, hoping that his voice didn’t sound panicky, even though he felt nervous at the prospect. Castiel huffed a laugh, lowering his eyes, but he didn’t deny anything. Dean reached out his hand and wrapped it around Castiel’s wrist. “Cas…” He didn’t know what to say, but then he reached down into his bag and pulled out the gold thread. It was stupid, he knew it, but the least he could do was try. Castiel widened his eyes when Dean wrapped an end of the thread around Castiel’s pinky. “You should come. Turn away from all of this and… I don’t know. Just be safe, be with Sam and me!” The angel looked from the gold thread up to Dean and it took him a long moment to compose himself, to change the look of longing and sadness into a slightly watery smile.

“Peculiar,” was what Castiel finally said, running the fingers of his free hand over the gold thread. “That you too would give me a way out… When I still remember you saying that people are worth fighting for.”

“They are, but… But you’re family, Cas. And I don’t want to see you sacrifice yourself,” Dean confessed and Castiel’s smile slipped for a moment. He looked down at their joined hands again. After a while he sighed deeply, sadly.

“I wish I could be selfish…,” he said and pulled his hands away, the thread slipping from his finger, “but I’m waiting for you in your time…” Dean clenched his jaw at the stinging pain of this rejection. He knew Castiel was right and that he couldn’t just take the easy way out. Neither of them could. But it hadn’t stopped him from hoping just for a little bit that Castiel would come with him. “And there are people dying to see the bright sunlight again, to drink fresh water without fear of corruption, to enjoy my Father’s creation without inhibition...” Castiel reached into his jeans’ pocket and pulled out the _Petrus Key_. He held it out to Dean and started wrapping the gold thread around it instead. Dean watched the movement of his fingers in disbelief. “Use this… You can open the vaults of the Earth with it, but you can only use it once. It will need to be forged anew afterwards. A sacrifice will be needed too…  But…” Castiel sighed and looked at Dean with an encouraging smile. “If you can prevent the Flood from happening, Dean, this future doesn’t need to come true for you. But it won’t be easy.” Dean took the offered key, looking at it in disbelief that Castiel would give him something this valuable, before putting it into his bag.

“When is it ever easy?” he asked with a snort instead of addressing what Castiel was giving up for his sake and received a shrug. Dean looked at him, at the way his hair was completely a mess, how his eyes were warm even though he could read the sadness well now on Castiel’s face. “Thank you…”

“Thank _you_ ,” Castiel replied and Dean had to look away from those eyes, shuffling his feet in a bout of nervousness. He could already hear some kind of buzzing noise inside of his ears if he was really quiet. He wasn’t sure if that was Sam calling him back – it was still a few hours too early, but Sam had probably tried to find a way to pull him back before his time was up. It made Dean almost frantic, because he was afraid of going back home before he could have said his good-bye properly this time.

“What are you going to do now, Cas?” he forced himself to ask and the question sounded familiar to his ears.

“There are a few things I still need to do, but then it is time for me to go,” Castiel replied, raising his eyes to the skies, “I can only hope that it’s the right choice.”

“If it is _your_ choice,” Dean started, but had to clear his throat when Castiel looked at him again, “then it’ll be fine… This time. I promise.” Castiel face changed from confusion, to surprise and to a bright, relieved smile. “I’m just… Wherever you’re going… I don’t want you to be all alone in this, Cas…” Dean said and put his hand on Castiel’s shoulder, pulling him in for a tight hug when the buzz in his ears gave an alarming spark before dying back down into a background murmur.

“I won’t be alone, Dean.” Castiel’s whisper tickled Dean’s ear and he frowned in confusion, but then there were hands grabbing the jacket covering his back. Castiel’s smell was warm and rich, a soft cloud of familiar scents wrapping around Dean. It smelt like freshly baked pie, the scent of their kitchen after Mom had made dinner, the leather of the Impala and the aftershave of his Dad. It was Sam’s fancy girl shampoo and the almost too strong smell of coffee on his breath after a long night of research. It was a little bit of home and Dean was sure he’d go crazy when he was back to that and the painful hole where Castiel should be. It was different, not as fuzzy as it was when Dean tried to soften down the edges with beer. It was clear and sharp and painful now that he was aware of what opportunities both of them had missed. So he grabbed tighter too, crushing Castiel against his body, memorizing the feeling of him, familiarizing himself with something he wished to do many more times.

“I’m gonna get you back. I swear!” He could hear the smile on Castiel’s lips in response to Dean’s vow in the way he huffed.

“I’m glad,” he said and Dean finally let go enough for Castiel to put some distance between them. His smile was genuine, but there was no denying of the regret that lingered in his eyes. “I can feel Sam… He’s trying to force the connection open so he can pull you back.” Dean lowered his head. He could hear the buzz in his ears getting louder, even though he couldn’t make out any words yet.

“Sam is missing you too, you know?” Dean asked and Castiel blinked at him in surprise, “we both are.” Castiel took a breath and closed his eyes. He nodded, but wouldn’t look back at Dean again. “Shit, this is a terrible good-bye,” Dean hissed and Castiel pressed his lips together. There was moisture clinging to his lashes and Dean didn’t feel any better. So he reached out and put both hands on Castiel’s face, rubbing slow circles on his skin with his thumbs. Castiel opened his eyes just enough to look up at Dean, the blue of his eyes clear and bright. Dean studied him, but then he brushed his lips against Castiel’s forehead.

“Thank you,” Dean whispered against Castiel’s skin, “for everything. For your love and faith, no matter how many times I mess up.” Castiel grabbed Dean’s sides, pulling at the jacket and Dean lowered his head to rest his forehead against Castiel’s.

“You deserve it,”Castiel finally said and Dean bit his lip. Castiel released his jacket and reached up to trace his jaw. Dean closed his eyes and felt Castiel take a step back and soon there were two warm fingers on his forehead. He opened his eyes again and saw Castiel smiling at him.

“I’ll see you soon, Dean Winchester.”

“Yeah…” And they hadn’t been the ideal parting words, but as the smells and the colors of a world that had been drowning in a Flood faded, he mused that they had been enough. He knew it was impossible and pointless for him to even try fixing everything, not in a time two years removed. He could still feel the warmth of Castiel’s fingers and the divine brightness around him when he was pushed through that tiny gap back home.


	8. Chapter 8

**Epilogue**

He remembered a line of gold, woven around a heavy, unadorned piece of metal. He felt the light rush around him and the presence of something else. Something with long white limbs and a cloud of hair, that tickled like a gentle sea spray when it touched Dean’s face.

He was dreaming still, disoriented when the light above him swayed, a bare bulb that flickered from time to time. He could feel salt on his lips, mixed with a peculiar sweetness, before water was poured down his throat.

Sam was mumbling something, his breath reeking of coffee and Dean kept on holding on to his bag with the flasks and the gold thread wound tightly around that unassuming key. Sam’s voice faded in and out and Dean let himself be pulled under the waves again, when he felt a pair of cool, but unfamiliar fingers touching his shoulder.

* * *

 

When Dean woke it was to darkness and someone breathing evenly not too far from where he lay. He sat up, taking in the not unfamiliar surroundings of Rufus’ cabin. He took a moment to place himself, leaning over to switch on the lamp on the night-table next to the sofa he was lying on. He looked around and almost shot up in alarm when there was an unfamiliar shape studying him. He wanted to call out to Sam, but the woman rolled her eyes.

“Disorientation, how very expected of you. It is quite puzzling how you even manage to get anything done. Let alone mess so much up on your way,” she sneered and despite himself, Dean let out a breath of relief. Atropos didn’t take kindly to being brushed off though and she jammed a finger into Dean’s chest when he had stood up on wobbly legs. “You are lucky to even still be here!” He looked down at the offending finger, then further down where his feet were clad in comfortable moccasins. Dean wanted to frown at Sam’s prank, but then his breath hitched and his eyes snapped back up to seek out Atropos’ gaze. She just shook her head with another irritated sigh. Poking him once more for good measure, before she took a step back.

“I… That wasn’t some freaky dream, right? I’ve been to 2014,” Dean managed to force past his lips and felt like sitting down again, but Atropos just looked at him with a hawkish expression. He wiped his hand over his face. It still smelled of Castiel, everything smelled of him, but the scent was fading fast, just an echo in his memory.

“Yes, but you’ve been more than lucky that the Apostate kept a fraction of its power,” Fate told him, holding her book to her chest and tapping it with one finger. The noise made Dean want to tear the book out of her hands and toss it into a fire.

“Don’t call him that, I told you before,” Dean hissed, annoyed that it was only now – back in his own time – that his memories were coming back to him.

“What has Castiel been able to do for you?” Atropos asked instead, turning her attention to the leather bag sitting at the foot of the couch. “I hope my efforts were at least not wasted on you. You did bring a number of things with you, unwrapped.”

“Do you really think a pair of shoes is going to influence the course of time?” Dean said with an annoyed eye-roll, “or a bag?” Atropos didn’t bother to send him a scathing glare, she just kneeled down and pulled something out of his bag. Dean didn’t like seeing her touch anything that Cas had given him, but he was quite surprised when she wiggled the box of condoms under his nose.

“No, but maybe this,” she said and Dean snatched it out of her hands, unable to fight the heating of his cheeks, even though he knew he’d done nothing wrong. He hadn’t even used any, well, maybe his future self had, but what did Dean know.

“A pack of condoms, really? I’ve bought them in a store here, not many days ago!” Dean argued, but Atropos clicked her tongue.

“Well, I have other things to do,” she said when Dean shook the packet a bit, the weight seeming slightly off. Was it empty? Not even he, after long months of abstinence, would use an entire packet of condoms. The thought made Dean reel with petty jealousy again and also a little grain of wonder. “Next time,” Atropos said and handed Dean a card, “refrain from using a summoning ritual. I will find you and I have had a long time to think about creative ways of ending your life.” Dean took the card, finding a mobile number written on the back. Dean couldn’t help grinning up at Fate, but she wrinkled her nose before he could make a comment. “If your brother wasn’t sleeping, I would have given it to him. You’re not my type,” she said and Dean’s eyebrows rose, “too short and already claimed.” With that she turned around and left the cabin, slamming the door just loud enough to startle a grunt out of Sam. But the younger Winchester was too exhausted to even wake up properly, so he just turned and continued sleeping while Dean was left to stare at the closed door. Dean walked over to the window, looking out into the forest around the cabin, slowly getting lighter with the dawn not far off. He sighed and ran his hand through his hair, before he took his bag and brought it over to the table. Everything was still there; his toothbrush, the box, Raphael’s sword, the three flasks and the key dangling on its golden chain. Dean sighed, closing his eyes for a moment to let his mind wander.

Cas was out there somewhere, trapped and waiting for someone to save him. Without a body, chained to the monster that had torn out of him, waiting to be put back together as Heaven just watched and Dean and Sam had never even started searching.

“Cas… I’ll get you… You just hold on,” he promised into the silence of the cabin. He hadn’t expected an answer, but he was still disappointed when he couldn’t hear Cas’ reassuring voice telling him that he believed him. Dean sighed and absent-mindedly pulled open the condom box. He frowned and peered inside. The condoms hadn’t been touched, a fact Dean wasn’t sure whether to be relieved or concerned about, but there was something tugged inside next to it. Dean pulled at what turned out to be a ripped out piece of paper, one side covered in print and pencil notes, the other was taken up by a written note.

It was, as Dean soon found out, the very last page of the Beast’s Lament and Dean moved over to the couch to be able to read it better.

 _“And 150 days after the Reign began it will end again with the rise of the White Goddess above the waves,”_ Dean read, squinting at the small print with a frown, _“The King will follow the call of his Queen and she will speak. Her voice will be thunder that shakes the firmament. She will say:_

_I have given birth to the black water. But I am no white queen, no white goddess. I am the one that wields a sword over your heads, I am the one that smashes your false crown. I will be the one to toss you back down._

_And she will draw them back within her body and cast herself into the cage yet again. That will conclude the Reign and the Flood on earth and sun will shine upon the lands of those made of dust and clay._

_Thus ends the Beast’s Lament.”_

Dean looked at the piece of paper for a long moment after he had read it so many times that the words were burned into his mind. Sam was already stirring in his bed by the time Dean turned around the page to read the note.

_“Dean,_

_Don’t do what I did. You can only change things if you are strong enough to face this fight, you can’t do it like you are now. Don’t chase weapons that won’t work. Don’t ignore the issues._

_Talk to Sam._

_Get Cas out._

_You’ll need your family to end this._

_Just so you know. Lucifer was wrong, it doesn’t have to end in 2014.”_

Underneath Dean could read the name of a couple of hunters he didn’t know and an address where he could get the Gospel and the Lament.

“Dean…?” Sam’s voice, still thick from sleep or lack of it, called from the other end of the room and the tall form of his brother stumbled to the sofa, squinting against the light of the lamp. Sam blinked a few times, then he widened his eyes, all tiredness forgotten. He almost leapt over the sofa in order to get his hands on Dean’s shoulders. “Dean? Are you alright?” Dean snorted, shaking his head. “Dude, you’re crying!” Sam let go of Dean and sat down on next to him. “Was it so bad over there?” Sam asked, voice full of concern and Dean didn’t want to believe that he couldn’t do anything against his brother’s descent into madness. His future self must be right, he could stop it before it was too late.

“It’s fine, we just need to prevent it,” Dean reassured his brother, wiping his eyes. Sam nodded and Dean grinned up at him.

“And what will we do now? We still don’t have the Colt,” Sam reminded him, but Dean shook his head.

“There’s a time for every battle. First of all we need to make sure we’re complete,” Dean answered and when Sam raised an eyebrow in confusion Dean added: “I need your head clear of Satan-vision.” Sam seemed both slightly uneasy and offended at that, but didn’t say anything apart from frowning. Dean pulled the gold thread out of the bag, looking at the key. “And we’re gonna get Cas.” Sam’s face changed from annoyance to poorly concealed pity in a heart-beat.

“Dean… I know Cas’ death got to you and-“

“Yeah. It got to me. And no, I’m not being in denial. I know that Cas is alive, we just need to get him out before the leviathans build him an altered meat suit,” Dean insisted. Sam didn’t seem convinced but Dean hit the rounded end of the _Petrus Key_ against Sam’s forehead. “Are you with me in this or not?” he demanded, but then his irritated expression softened, “I can’t do this without you, Sammy.” Sam sighed, but he smiled at him, nodded.

“Yeah. Yeah, I want him back too,” he confessed and wiped his hair out of his face. “So you have a plan.”

“Not quite yet,” Dean replied, lying back against the backrest and turning the key around in his fingers, “but I know where I don’t want to end up in.”

“Well, that’s… that’s good, right? I don’t think I have to worry about you drinking yourself into a stupor again,” Sam said and Dean was slightly sad that it was only half a joke.

“Right, by the way, Atropos left you her number. I think she likes you,” Dean said, letting the key disappear in his pocket, propping his moccasin clad feet up on the low table in front of the couch. Sam wrinkled his brow in surprise, opening his mouth to say something but didn’t actually manage more than a few sounds of confusion. Dean chuckled. “Well, Fate’s a bitch, but it’s probably nice to have her on your side. Go for it, Sammy.”

“You’re such a jerk, you know that? At least I’m not running around in hippie shoes,” Sam countered weakly and Dean had to laugh.

“Better get used to it,” he replied, “man, once this is over I’m gonna go civilian for a while. Did you know that Cas can cook? His house was awesome too. Well, apart from the dresses in his wardrobe.” Sam actually chocked on his own spit at that, Dean grinning mischievously.

“Yeah? Pie too?” Sam asked once he’d recovered from the shock but didn’t raise to the bait of asking about the dresses. He got up instead to fetch them both a soda and switching on the TV just in time for Dr. Sexy re-runs. Dean nodded, swallowing the sweet beverage. “Good.”

“Yeah.” Dean grinned and even though he felt shaken by what he’d seen of a future that could very well turn out to be his, he was relaxed for the first time in weeks. Months even. Sam still had his problems and Dean had to make sure that they dealt with them. Dean needed to have the energy to focus on Sam, instead of conveniently ignoring the way his fingers continued pressing into his scar just because he was too tired from dealing with his own shit.

And Cas… Cas was still out there somewhere, more now than a painful memory and a stained trenchcoat hidden away in the trunk of a car. Dean knew he had to get him back, no matter what it took, not just because he promised, but also because he _wanted_ him back. He wanted him as a presence that might just pop up unbidden, he wanted him as a guest in his better dreams, no longer in his nightmares, he wanted him in the backseat of the Impala. A friend, close by. He wanted to know him safe, he wanted him in the embrace of his arms, he wanted him there when Dean felt like breaking, he wanted him in places they hadn’t yet explored together.

Dean wanted to have his family back. He wanted to be able to do this, sit here and start thinking about a time where they had their problems solved, no matter if there was a new crisis lurking somewhere on the horizon (because there always was, the universe was too big and restless to give the Winchesters a break).

So, they’d march on. But in a different direction.

 

**_End_ **


End file.
